I'm Not Crazy, I'm Just a Little Unwell
by RinaCath
Summary: Classes. Booze. Murder. The story of college, where coming of age is second only to passing.
1. Welcome Home

Elizabeta hummed as she wiped down the counters of the cramped corner coffee shop. The bell on the door jingled and she looked up. Immediately, a grin spread across her face.

"Gilbert!" she called out happily, attracting the attention of several customers in the quiet shop. "When did you get back?"

Gilbert laughed and leaned on the counter, elbows smudging what she'd just been working so haphazardly to polish.

"Today."

"Shouldn't you be sleeping or something?" she laughed, turning to toss the rag on the counter and pour him a mug of coffee.

"I figured you'd want to hear how worldly I've become." he said, adopting the mysterious tone of a traveled scholar.

"I'm sure." Elizabeta said, dropping the coffee in front of Gilbert.

"Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" he asked, bringing the cup to his lips.

"Oh, nothing." she said vaguely, reaching for the towel she'd abandoned.

Gilbert's hand shot out and grabbed hers, holding it out to better see the ring sparkling on her finger.

"Nothing?" he asked incredulously.

"Stop that!" Elizabeta scolded, ruining the effect with a brilliant smile. Gilbert's coffee sat forgotten as he stared at her, hand still raised as if in objection.

"He _proposed_?"

"He did." she said, squealing with excitement. "I was going to tell you, Gilbert, I was, but it only happened a week ago and I figured you'd be back soon… you're not mad are you?"

"Of course not." he said, taking a large gulp of scalding coffee and coughing violently as it burned his windpipe. Elizabeta slapped him on the back from behind the counter.

"Ow..." Gilbert gasped, regaining use of his throat.

"Sorry." she said, putting her chin on her hands, leaning on the counter. "Don't be mad, Gilbert."

"I'm not mad."

"We stopped dating ages ago."

"Nine months."

"You haven't been keeping track of every single day, have you?"

"No!" he said indignantly. "I just remember because it was the same day I found out we were going to Europe."

"How was Europe?" she asked, purposely changing the subject.

"Fine." he shrugged.

"How were your grandparents?"

He stared at his coffee for a moment. "My Granddad's fine."

Elizabeta watched him, wondering if she'd said something wrong. She hesitantly broke the silence.

"Does anyone know you're back?"

"Feliciano."

"So…everyone."

"Probably."

"Are you going to the bar later?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Yeah, probably. I haven't seen Alfred yet."

"I'll meet you there later, then." Elizabeta said brightly, tossing the filthy rag into the sink behind her.

"'lright." Gilbert agreed, stifling a yawn.

"Go get some sleep first, you look exhausted." Elizabeta told him sternly. "Classes start in two days."

"Yeah yeah." Gilbert waved her warning away as he stumbled through the front door, leaving the bell jingling in his wake.

Elizabeta sighed and set her chin in her hand, looking at the ring sparkling on her finger.

* * *

"Hey, you're back!" Alfred called from behind the bar.

"Hey, Alfred." Gilbert slid into a seat at the bar.

"So what's Europe like?"

"Nice." Gilbert said, shrugging.

Alfred poured him something and pushed it across the counter. "I guess I don't have to pretend to see your ID now…You're legal." He snorted. "How boring."

"It's awesome right?" Gilbert said, posing dramatically. "Actually, it's not such a big deal in Europe, most places let you drink at eighteen. Or younger. America is so behind on the times."

"Hey, there've been studies that prove drinking before twenty-one is damaging to your brain development or something." Alfred said, diluting the effect of his argument by taking a swig from something in a cloudy bottle. Gilbert laughed again.

Someone stumbled into the bar and clutched at it for support. Alfred laughed.

"Already, Artie? You're gonna get me fired. You only had like, three drinks."

"Shuddup. Jus' gimme something." Arthur slurred.

"How about coffee?" Alfred said, pushing a mug toward him. Arthur grumbled murderously, but accepted it without further complaint.

"Still a light-weight, I see." Gilbert laughed, slapping the shorter man on the back.

"So you heard about Elizabeta and Roddy, right?" Alfred asked, turning to Gilbert again.

"Yes." Gilbert said shortly.

"It is kinda young, huh?" Alfred said, refilling Gilbert's drink. "Elizabeta turns twenty in a month though, and Roddy's twenty-one, like you."

"Difference being I'm not stupid enough to tie the knot yet." Gilbert muttered.

"Yeah, still pretty young." Alfred said vaguely. "Meet anyone in Europe?"

"A few drunk girls for a night or two. Europeans don't like Americans much, but the girls sure do like fucking them." Gilbert said in an off-hand voice that neatly hid the lie.

"The sexiest nation by far." Alfred said dramatically. "But no busty foreign girl who'd do anything to just see New York for the first time?"

"Have _you_ even seen New York?" Gilbert asked, turning the question back on Alfred.

"Yeah, well…I've seen pictures." Alfred said, deflating slightly. "Are European girls hot?"

"Well they're not all movie stars. They look like they do here. Except, you know, foreign." Gilbert shrugged again. "What'd you think, Artie?"

"European girls look better in bikinis." Arthur said, sounding slightly more coherent. Alfred made a face at him in annoyance.

"Hairier though." Gilbert added. Alfred laughed.

"Oh look." Alfred added, nodding toward the front of the bar. "The happy couple has arrived."

Gilbert ignored him and drank whatever concoction Alfred had poured into his glass.

"Hey, man, if you ask me you and her looked cuter together." Alfred said, turning to mix a drink for an actual customer. "Not, like, 'cute cute', really. It was more like, old married couple, you know? You guys were always fighting about something."

Alfred seemed completely unaware that he was only making matters worse. He continued happily, pushing the finished drink away and turning back to Gilbert while Arthur looked on with growing amusement. "They're just always hanging on each other, and kissing, and being the perfect couple-"

"The perfect couple, are they?" Gilbert snapped.

"No, I mean, they're just…infatuated." Alfred said quickly, backtracking hurriedly. "Sooner or later it'll fade and we'll have to see what's left."

"A bit too late for that, isn't it?" Gilbert asked, glancing at the aforementioned 'perfect couple'.

"Well, they haven't set a date yet." Alfred said, frowning into the ice trays. "Hey, maybe she'll come around. But don't get your hopes up, man. There're plenty of beautiful women all around you."

With that, he turned and offered a small, fruity drink to a girl behind the counter with a wink. She giggled and blushed. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"That's not even fair. You should at least tell them you're batting for the other team."

"Hey." Alfred said seriously, jabbing a finger at Gilbert. "I bat for both teams."

"Whatever you say." Gilbert mumbled around the last dregs of his drink. The alcohol was starting to numb his mind into a pleasant stupor. Alfred resumed his teasing of Arthur.

"Feeling better?"

"Shut it, Alfred."

"Aw, maybe you need more coffee."

"What I _need_ is another drink!" Arthur said angrily, pushing himself off the counter with such excessive vigor it seemed for a moment he would fall over.

"That was very convincing." Alfred said, nodding seriously. "I've been swayed." He pushed another drink toward Arthur.

"You're joking." Arthur said flatly, looking down at the fruity little cocktail in front of him.

"It's alcohol." Alfred said teasingly.

"Bullshit." Arthur said, picking up the glass anyway. Gilbert laughed and turned back to the mass of people behind them.

College students mingled happily, celebrating whatever came to mind as an excuse to drink and make an excessive amount of noise. The new engagement, as surprising as it was, the return of friends from foreign lands far away, the last days of summer, Thursday…

Somewhere around one in the morning, when Gilbert had long ago abandoned the land of the sober, a pair of hands clasped around his eyes.

"Guess who." a slurred voice giggled. The hands disappeared and Gilbert turned to see Feliciano swaying on his feet.

"Hey, sup Feli." Gilbert said, ruffling his curly hair. "Where've you been?"

"Around." Feliciano said, waving his hand haphazardly across the crowded bar. "Ludwig was asleep and I dinn't want to wake him up so we got here lateish."

"Glad you made it, then." Gilbert laughed.

Ludwig appeared at Feliciano's elbow in time to stop the giggling man from toppling to the floor.

"There you are, Feliciano." Ludwig said.

"Sorry, I wanted to say hi to Gilbert. I only saw him for like a sec earlier." Feliciano slurred.

"Just don't get into trouble again." Ludwig said, taking a swig from the mug in his free hand.

"I won't." Feliciano said indignantly. "That was once. And I was only completely naked for like, thirty seconds."

Gilbert laughed and took another sip from the glass in his hand. He was long past the point of recognizing what it was. Right now, he was just interested in putting more alcohol in his system. Halfway through opening his mouth to make some other witty comment, or, at least, something he thought was witty in his current state, something hit him from the side and toppled him to the ground.

"YOU'RE BACK. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?" someone shouted in his ear.

"I've been back for like, nine hours, give me a break." Gilbert laughed, pushing his assailants off him. "Francis, move your hand."

"Sorry. It was an accident." Francis said unconvincingly.

"You said you'd tell us when you got back!" Antonio continued, prodding Gilbert as he got back to his feet with all the grace of an upturned turtle.

"Sorry, man, I thought you'd figure it out." Gilbert said, brushing the remnants of his drink off his shirt.

"You overestimated us." Francis said. "How was Europe?"

"Awesome enough." Gilbert shrugged. He glanced at the empty glass in his hand. "I'm gonna get a refill, what about you?"

"I'm good." Francis said, and Gilbert saw the faint blush across his cheeks. Francis wasn't a heavy drinker.

"I could go for one of Alfred's concoctions." Antonio said, following Gilbert to the bar.

Gilbert leaned on the counter, but Alfred was busy with actual work, so he waited, looking at the various bottles lining the shelves with the kind of fascination only alcohol can produce.

"So. Elizabeta and Roderich, huh?"

"Is everyone going to bring that up?" Gilbert asked, inebriation loosening his tongue.

"Sorry." Antonio said. "'s just sorta weird, you know? They dated for like, six months."

"Some people just know, I guess." Gilbert muttered, watching Alfred show off.

"Always thought she'd be the one to pop the question, you know? Never thought she'd wait around for him to."

"Well she didn't wait much, did she?"

"Guess not, huh?" Antonio shrugged. Something caught his eye across the room and he pushed away from the counter. "There you are…!"

His voice faded as he wandered back into the crowd. Gilbert glanced over his shoulder and heard the familiar, aggravated voice of Lovino. He turned back around with a scoff.

"Hey, Gilbert."

Gilbert turned back to the counter.

"Hey Roderich."

"So…how was Europe?" Roderich asked.

Gilbert stared determinedly at the shelves lining the back wall.

"Nice."

"That's good." Roderich fidgeted uncomfortably. Gilbert glanced at him again.

"Where's Elizabeta?"

"Bathroom." he laughed nervously, hefting the little black purse in his hand. She'd never carried a purse when she'd dated _him_.

As often happened when he'd had more drinks than he could actually remember, he asked what was on his mind.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Roderich asked, no longer smiling.

"Why'd you propose?" Gilbert asked, with only a little less tact than he had sober.

"I…" Roderich seemed taken off-guard. "Because I love Elizabeta. I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

To Gilbert, his answer seemed rehearsed, but maybe he was biased.

"You only dated for six months."

"Sometimes you just know, I suppose." he said, attempting the weak smile again.

"You're twenty-one."

"So?"

"So kind of young to go marrying someone you've been dating for six months."

Roderich shrugged. "Really, don't be jealous you didn't get there first."

"Fuck off, I loved her first." Gilbert said angrily.

"And I loved her last." Roderich said, the threat in his voice softened by the silk purse dangling from his elbow. "Last night."

Gilbert took a swing at his jaw.

Both of them had taken their rivalry to physical fighting before, but it was always more interesting drunk. Gilbert fought dirty, which was, of course, the best way to fight. And the best way to win. There was cheering as people gathered to watch the bar fight.

"Hey, HEY!" Alfred's voice was lost in the noise. "No fighting! Take it outside!"

It wasn't until someone pulled them apart by the hair that they stopped. Gilbert looked with satisfaction at the blood oozing from Roderich's nose, even as he felt a vibrant bruise rise up around his eye.

Elizabeta held both of them by the roots of their hair, glaring furiously from one to the other. "I left. For five. Minutes."

"Your fiancée can't control himself, obviously." Gilbert said quickly.

"Shut up, Gilbert, I know you started this!" she said angrily, finally letting go of both of them. "Both of you. This had better be the last time I catch you doing something this stupid!"

"Hey, Gilbert, buddy, you know I love you, but you gotta get out of here." Alfred said, voice apologetic.

"What? Why?" Gilbert demanded, turning to him.

"I saw you, you threw the first punch." Alfred said.

"But, he-"

"I'm sure he deserved it. Sorry, man. You're gonna get me fired." Alfred said, making a face. "I really do hate kicking you out. Want one for the road?"

"No. I'm fine." Gilbert said bluntly, turning away with one last, furious glance at Roderich. "I'm going."

Ludwig broke away from the crowd but Gilbert waved him away.

"Stay and have fun. I'm tired anyway."

"You're drunk, you're not going to drive like that, are you?" his brother asked.

"I'm fine, it's only like, two miles. My bike's outside anyway, I'm not leaving it." Gilbert said, throwing open the door. "See you at home!"

Outside, Gilbert stalked angrily to the parking lot, fishing in his pocket for his keys. As he reached the scratched red motorcycle at the edge of the lot, some of his anger faded. He always felt better on his bike. He hadn't been able to ride it for months. Motorcycles were difficult to transfer to Europe, as it turned out.

The motor started up with a familiar, comforting roar. He sighed and strapped on his helmet. He was fine, really, he could make it home. Although his head was starting to ache from that punch. Maybe he'd put some ice on it or something. Just so he wouldn't have a bruise on Monday. Not because it hurt, or something.

He raced out of the parking lot and onto the empty streets, enjoying the sharp rush of air on his bare arms. His jacket was still at the bar. Oh well. Ludwig would get it. Or Alfred.

He passed the coffee shop Elizabeta worked at and twisted the throttle harder, fighting to keep his grip as the bike flew forward. Elizabeta had always loved his bike...

He shifted forward slightly, until he was almost standing, something he rarely did sober just because it was so hard to hang on to the throttle. But Drunk Gilbert could do anything. Drunk Gilbert could fly.

Drunk Gilbert didn't lose his girlfriend of two years to his a dick that got a ring on her finger in six months.

He could see the parking lot of his apartment. He twisted the throttle just a little more and his bike rushed forward, miles above the speed limit, approaching the narrow opening to the parking lot. He could make it, he always made it. And Drunk Gilbert could do anything, remember?

Absolutely fucking anything.


	2. Missing in Action

Yawning, Alfred settled into his first class, chin resting on his folded arms. The teacher was writing something on the board. What class was this again?

Math. Right. Or at least, that looked like math. Maybe it was foreign language class. What foreign language was he taking? Was he taking a foreign language? But that definitely looked like math.

It took him a minute to recognize the student that sat in front of him and cut off his view of the board.

"Oh. Hey Ludwig." he said, sitting up again.

Ludwig turned slightly and smiled at him. Or, at least, did whatever it was Ludwig did instead of smile. Grimace?

"Hey Alfred. You have Calculus?"

Calculus. Right. That was math. "Apparently. Hey, have you seen Gilbert? He left his jacket at the bar."

"No," Ludwig frowned. "I guess missed him the last few days, he sleeps such weird hours..."

"Damn. Let me know if you see him, he probably thought he lost his jacket again." Alfred said as the teacher set down their chalk with a sharp crack, signaling the end of their conversation. Ludwig nodded and turned back around.

* * *

Ludwig frowned at the empty apartment. It was possible Gilbert was just nursing his bruised feelings, but he usually left a mess in his wake. His bed still made. Gilbert never made his bed.

Was he at someone else's house? He would have told Ludwig, at least… Maybe he forgot.

The phone rang and he hurried to pick it up, hoping it was Gilbert. Last he'd seen him he'd been drunk… he hadn't gotten into an accident, had he? That motorcycle…if he hit a car…

"Hello?" Ludwig said sharply.

"Have you seen Gilbert?"

"Oh, hi Antonio." Ludwig said, sagging. "No. I was hoping you had, actually..."

"Francis hasn't seen him either. We have classes together but he wasn't in any of them."

Ludwig sighed. "I don't know… maybe he got picked up for a DUI. He was pretty drunk the other night. I can check the police station."

"He wasn't that bad." Antonio said, unconvinced. "He's driven farther drunker."

"It's the last place I can think to check."

"Alright. Let us know if you find him! He's in so much trouble, that stupid…" Antonio hung up the phone, still cursing. Ludwig chuckled and set the phone back in place. He really didn't want to go back out… But he was starting to get concerned. Maybe they were waiting for bail and he couldn't remember his phone number. He'd do something stupid like that.

* * *

Ludwig was more annoyed than worried as he approached the local police station. It was barely more than a hole in the wall, a short, fenced parking lot showcased a series of broken cars, transgressors of accidents yet to be filed. Ludwig glanced through them, but didn't notice any red motorcycles. He pushed opened the doors, not really sure what he was hoping for. He didn't have any money for bail…

A rather disgruntled woman sat behind the only counter in the area. A man was already arguing with her, so Ludwig waited, glancing past them to check the drunk tank in the back. Empty.

As the argument continued, a pair of officers walked in, still in the middle of a conversation. He didn't pay them much attention, listening absently to them talk, his mind elsewhere.

"…like that poor kid the other night. I'm telling you, never leave without your wallet. You wouldn't believe how many John Does die in the hospitals."

"That kid was pretty beat up too. Never seen a bike that twisted with the rider still in one piece."

"Yeah, well, they said he was thrown off it just before it hit the tree. He's lucky he's even breathing-"

Ludwig turned, frowning. He called out to them as they paused by the counter.

"This bike. Was it red?"

One of them paused to think. "I think."

"The kid. pale hair, about twenty?"

"Yeah, actually. You know him?"

Ludwig was already through the door again.

* * *

Panting, Ludwig leaned on the brightly-lit desk, trying to retain coherency.

"I'm looking…for a John Doe. He'll be twenty-one, motorcycle accident."

"We have…one John Doe." the nurse said, not even bothering to look up from her computer. "He's in surgery."

"S..surgery?" Ludwig said, trying to grasp the concept. Gilbert was in surgery? "What for?"

"Are you a relative?" she asked, looking at him for the first time.

"I..think?" Ludwig told her. "I don't know…if it's him…or not."

"We can let you see him once he's out of surgery." she told him, looking back at her computer screen. "If it's the person you're looking for and you're a relative you can stay, otherwise visiting hours are three to five."

"When will he be out?" Ludwig asked hesitantly.

"We'll have someone come and get you."

Frustrated, Ludwig turned to the quiet waiting room. There were only a few people, scattered in the rough, uncomfortable hospital chairs. He chose one near the desk and sank into it.

It was possible he was wrong, that the John Doe in surgery wasn't Gilbert. But he really wasn't feeling that lucky today. He looked up at the ceiling, trying not to think all sorts of horrible things. What Gilbert might be in surgery for, what kind of motorcycle accident he'd been in, what had happened to his motorcycle…

From the sounds of things it was ruined. That would just kill Gilbert. He loved that stupid bike. Maybe now he would get a real car.

Something buzzed in his pocket and he fished out his phone. Feliciano. Ludwig hit the end call button. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now, much less Feliciano.

He must have dozed off. A nurse – a different one – was shaking him awake. He jerked upright again and she smiled at him.

"You wanted to see the John Doe?"

"Yes." Ludwig said, for lack of anything else to say.

"He's out of surgery. You can tell us if it's your friend."

Ludwig couldn't find his voice to correct her. _Brother_ he wanted to say. _He's my brother._

She led him down a hall that reeked of antiseptic and through a door marked _Recovery Room_.

And there, in the last bed on the right, was Gilbert.

"That's him." Ludwig said to the nurse, who smiled and pulled the curtain around to give them a little more privacy. Ludwig wondered if they bothered with it for patients without a family to care.

"Are you-"

"I'm his brother. That means I can stay, right?"

"Of course." she said. "He'll be moved to a room in a few hours. We'll contact you for insurance information later. Will you be moving him to a private room…?"

"I.." Ludwig knew they certainly didn't have enough money, but that was a problem for a later time. "Yeah, I guess."

The nurse disappeared. Ludwig sat in a conveniently-placed chair.

"Damn it, Gilbert." he muttered.

Gilbert, unsurprisingly, didn't respond. Ludwig looked him over, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. There was a heavy brace around his chest, probably for a number of broken ribs, and a thick bandage over his left hand. They'd covered his left eye, and Ludwig tried not to think about why that might be.

His phone went off again. He glanced at the angry red and white sign to his right that silently informed him 'NO CELL PHONES IN THIS AREA' and back at Gilbert. He wouldn't miss him, and Ludwig supposed it wasn't fair to leave everyone in the dark.

"Hello?" he said quietly, stepping out into the hall again.

"Ludwig? I heard someone say they saw you at the hospital, are you okay? You're not hurt are you? Or sick? Are you contaFelius?"

Ludwig almost laughed. Where Feliciano had even heard anything was a mystery. "No, I'm fine."

"Then what are you doing in a hospital? Is Gilbert hurt? Why didn't you answer your phone earlier?"

"Gilbert was in an accident. He totaled his motorcycle." Ludwig said calmly.

"That's where he's been? Why didn't they call you or something? Aren't they supposed to do that?" Feliciano continued, talking even faster.

"He didn't have his wallet. They didn't know who he was."

"Oh, right, huh? 'cause he forgot his jacket at the bar. So have you told anyone else yet or do you not want to? Did you not want to tell me? Sorry, I didn't-"

"Feli." Ludwig said sharply, cutting his friend off mid-sentence.

"Sorry."

"He just got out of surgery. He's still asleep." he ran his fingers through his hair. "Go ahead and tell everyone. Visiting hours are over though, I think. Just tell them to wait for me to call." Ludwig added, glancing at his watch. Ten. When had it gotten to be ten? His jet lag was really catching up to him.

"Okay, Ludwig. Call me as soon as you know something! When are visiting hours? I'll come down tomorrow. Do you want me to bring you anything? How about flowers? I can bring-"

"I don't know when visiting hours are." he lied. "I'll find out. Just stay put for now."

"Okay Ludwig." Feliciano said again. "Just call if you need to talk. Don't worry about the time, I'll talk if you want me to-"

"Good night Feliciano."

"Right. Call everyone. Night, Luddy. Sorry about Gilbert."

* * *

Ludwig stretched tiredly, blinking in the morning light pouring through the thin hospital curtains. His back ached from sleeping in another stiff chair all night.

The steady beep of the various machines attached to Gilbert told him that his brother was still alive, somehow. They'd removed the chest brace sometime last night. He checked his phone.

Thirty-seven missed messages. That's what he got for telling Feliciano anything. He scrolled through the list absently.

There was another angry red sign on the wall, so he glanced at Gilbert again and stepped into the hall. He certainly wasn't going to miss him. He leaned against the wall out in the hallway and dialed his phone. No need to call everyone if Feliciano could spread word just as quickly.

"Ludwig, I told you there was something wrong with him!" Antonio's voice rang through the tiny speaker. Of course Antonio was at Feliciano and Lovino's. When wasn't he?

"I know. You were right-"

"What's wrong with him? What surgery? When are visiting hours? Is he awake? Did he say anything? Where'd he crash?"

Ludwig closed his eyes against a coming migraine. It wasn't Antonio's fault he was grating on worn nerves. He was just worried.

"The doctors said he's broken his arm pretty bad, but he should be able to use it in about four months. He broke two ribs and cracked a third, and scratched half the skin off his face, so he might have a scar." Ludwig said flatly. It was a list he'd been repeating to himself all night.

"What kind of scar?"

What a stupid thing to focus on. "I don't know. They said they'll try to keep him from scaring, but they don't…really know."

"But he's okay?"

"I guess, if you consider three broken ribs and a crushed hand okay…" Ludwig said, losing his patience.

"But he'll heal, right?"

"He might lose some use of his hand."

There was silence on the other end.

"But…he'll live?"

"He'll live." Ludwig confirmed.

There was a sigh of relief. "They said he'll live!" Antonio shouted, voice muffled as he pulled the phone away for a moment. There was faint cheering.

"Who's there?"

"Uh…well...like everyone."

There was a sudden sharp cussing and the phone crackled with static. Ludwig heard someone fish it from the carpet.

"Is he really okay? Will he wake up soon? Oh god, I feel so bad, please tell me he's really okay." Elizabeta's voice was frantic.

"He'll live." Ludwig repeated.

"Oh thank god." she sighed. "I kept thinking what I said to him at the bar. Oh god, I was drunk and I was so mean to him… If that was the last thing I said to him I just couldn't live with myself…"

Someone tore the phone away from her.

"Hey Ludwig, is he awake? You didn't say." someone said, running their words together as if trying to get them in before the phone was taken again.

"He's not awake. Not for a few days, they think." Ludwig sighed.

"Is there any brain damage?" Alfred continued.

Ludwig hesitated. "They said there might be."

There was silence on the other end again. This time, no one stole the phone.

"Are…what kind?" Alfred asked quietly.

"They don't know. He might have trouble recognizing people for a while, remembering how to talk…" Ludwig leaned on the wall for support.

"Is he gonna be a vegetable?" Alfred burst out. Someone, probably Arthur, smacked him and he cursed into the phone.

"They said there's a possibility." Ludwig said, staring at the ground. "But he's probably going to wake up in a few days. They don't know how hard he hit his head. They'll probably scan it soon."

More silence.

"He'll totally wake up." Alfred said, suddenly confident. "It's Gilbert."

As if that settled matters. Several people echoed his confidence hollowly in the background.

"Hey, tell us when we can come see him, Luddy." Alfred said suddenly.

"I'll see."

"If he wakes up tell him we're all wishing him well."

"Of course."

The line cut off. Ludwig stuck the phone back in his pocket and leaned his head back against the wall. Gilbert would be fine. Of course he would. Alfred was right, this was Gilbert.


	3. Pity is a Dangerous Word

Alfred looked at the phone in his hand.

"Hey, come on guys, he'll live." he said brightly. "I've got a shift in like twenty minutes. Let's go drink to his health."

His enthusiasm was echoed around the room.

"Come on, I could use a drink." Elizabeta said determinedly, hooking Roderich by the arm and dragging him after her.

Maybe he should have let that fight slide. His boss hadn't been around, no one had gotten hurt… Gilbert had obviously been drunk. He was a terrible bartender, he should have taken his keys or told him to call a cab or something.

Alfred shook his head. No, if he started thinking like that he'd just make himself miserable. Gilbert knew what he was doing when he took his bike home. He'd done it a million times, drunk or not. There was no reason to think he would've crashed that night.

Alfred climbed into his beaten old car through the window (the door had stopped working properly months ago), wondering if he really ought to be giving alcohol to minors.

_No, Gilbert was legal last night. Not that I checked his ID. But he's twenty-one. This isn't about me slipping him a drink behind the bar._

He was so busy berating himself he didn't even realize he'd run a red light until he had to swerve to avoid oncoming traffic.

Shaking slightly, he found himself panting, staring at the front of the bar, gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles were turning white.

_Fuck. That was close._

He couldn't believe he'd actually been distracted by Gilbert crashing his bike _while he was driving_. He could have ended up just the same way. He could have been a John Doe in a hospital while Matt tried to tell everyone he wouldn't wake up.

He shivered at that thought. What if it really had happened? Or what if it was Matt? What if Matt was-

He cut himself off. This wasn't helping anyone. He scrambled out of his car, leaving it parked haphazardly on the curb. He really ought to get a car with airbags. Or seatbelts.

It seemed everyone else had beaten him to the bar.

"Hey Matt." Alfred called, washing his hands.

"Oh, hey Alfred." his twin called back, finishing the drinks and brushing off his hands. "You're kinda early."

"Yeah, well, bittersweet news about Gilbert, figured we might as well get everyone raging drunk so they're not sitting around waiting for Ludwig to call." Alfred dried his hands on the towel Matt offered him.

"So how is he?"

"Ludwig says he'll live." Alfred shrugged, motioning some of their friends toward the bar. "But there's a chance he might not wake up."

"How big of a chance?"

"He didn't say."

"Damn." Matt sighed.

"Hey guys, new rule." Alfred called. "Keys. Now."

"What, you're serious?" someone whined.

"As a brain tumor. Hand 'em over, I'll give 'em back if and when I think you're good to drive. Arthur, you might as well just find a ride home now." Alfred held out a spare tip jar and it filled quickly. No one was really willing to argue, not in light of recent events.

"Awesome. Whose fairy keychain?" Alfred asked.

"No idea." Arthur said.

"It's cute Artie." Alfred laughed, ruffling his hair. Arthur swiped at Alfred and missed.

It turned out to be a good thing both of them were working that night. With the business their friends were giving them along with the usual crowd, neither Alfred nor Matt got a moment to stop and talk about anything that had happened.

"Hey, what if I crashed my car like that?" Alfred called over his shoulder as Matt walked past on his way to refill the ice trays.

"What, you mean if you were in some kind of vegetable-coma?" Matt called back from the freezer.

"Yeah."

"Sell your stuff to pay for your stupid ass, do you have any idea how much that can cost?" Matt said, avoiding the question. "I don't know how Ludwig's doing it, they can't have much money after Europe."

"I dunno. Maybe their parents are paying for it." Alfred shrugged. He hadn't actually heard either Gilbert or Ludwig talk about their parents. Maybe they were just as filthy rich as their German grandparents.

"Fred, they live on food stamps half the year." Matt pointed out. "They mostly just get by on scholarships. Ludwig's scholarships." He added.

"Yeah, I guess. But still, their kid is in the hospital. That seems like something you get involved in." Alfred commented.

"Maybe there's some kind of family feud or something. I've never heard either of them mention their parents, they never even go anywhere for Christmas or stuff. This trip to Europe is the first I've heard of their family at all."

"Maybe their mom is Russian and their grandparents hate her and so they had to decide between their grandparents and their mom and they needed money for college and-"

"Alfred, shut up." Matt sighed. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of."

"Well, what do you think happened?" Alfred said indignantly.

"Maybe they got in trouble back home, or-"

"Don't you guys know?"

"What?" Matt and Alfred said together. Feliciano leaned on the counter, looking at both of them with wide-eyed innocence.

"About Ludwig and Gilbert's parents?"

"What about them?"

Feliciano looked discouraged. "If you don't know then they probably don't want me to say-"

"This drink is on the house if you tell us." Alfred said, pushing a glass towards him.

Feliciano eyed it curiously.

"Don't bribe him, Alfred-"

"Ludwig said their parents have been dead for nine years." Feliciano said quickly, knocking back the drink.

"What happened to them?" Alfred asked eagerly. Feliciano looked at the empty glass and Alfred refilled it. "Well?"

"I don't know, exactly. Gilbert ended up raising Ludwig. I think they were in a car crash or something." He made a face. "Kinda sucks, considering."

"I didn't know that." Alfred said, dumbfounded. "So he was what…twelve?"

"Yeah. Ludwig was nine. They were in foster care for about a year, but then something happened and they were on the streets for a while."

Alfred looked at Matt. "No wonder they didn't tell anyone."

"There's more." Feliciano added, holding out the emptied glass.

"I think that's enough, Alfred," Matt said. "This is hardly better than gossiping, if they wanted us to know they would have told us."

But Alfred was already refilling the glass. "What happened? Why were they on the streets?"

"Right. Gilbert was thirteen and Ludwig was ten and they put Ludwig in a home but not Gilbert."

"What?" Alfred gasped, perhaps overdramatically.

"Yeah. Gilbert freaked and told them they couldn't do that but they just told him they couldn't keep them together for now and they'd do what they could soon. So Gilbert was back at the orphanage and all the sudden a few weeks later Ludwig shows up in the middle of the night covered in bruises, says the foster parents did it, and Gilbert…Gilbert freaked."

"Wha…they beat him?" Alfred asked quietly. "There are foster parents that do that?"

"Yeah, some of them think it makes them more obedient or builds character or something. I asked Ludwig and he says to be honest he doesn't remember if all the bruises were all from his parents or if some of them might have been from running away. But he remembers his foster dad got really mad at him and gave him a big black eye. So Gilbert decides the foster system is full of crap and they run off that night, with a pillowcase full of cans they steal from the kitchen."

Feliciano looked down at his empty glass. This time Matt refilled it. Alfred raised his eyebrows.

"I hate myself." Matt assured him. "Go on."

"Okay, so they spent a few nights just sleeping on the sidewalk and eating cold canned soup, but that ran out pretty fast. So now they're just starving on the streets and Gilbert starts begging for change and food and he finds out pretty quick that people give him more money if Ludwig stands next to him all bruised and shivering."

"Damn."

"I know. So they're getting food, but they're also attracting attention, and Gilbert doesn't want to get sent back to foster care, so they start traveling. They wind up in some city, living with some other bums or something. They sort of treated Gilbert and Ludwig like pets, they gave them scraps and sometimes money or cans, you know?"

Feliciano stopped suddenly.

"I can't give you anything more for free." Alfred snapped. "I'll get fired."

"How about a discount?"

"That'll work."

While Matt refilled his drink, Feliciano continued the story. "So they're living in subways and under bridges, stuff like that, and that goes on for about ten months."

"Ten months? They just lived in the streets?"

"Yeah. Ludwig says they were hungry all the time and it was absolutely disgusting. He fell in the sewer once or twice. I think that's why he's such a neat freak. So now there're two homeless kids running around, so the police get called. And they take them back into the foster system."

"Well it can't be worse than living on the streets, can it?" Matt asked.

"That's what Ludwig sort of sounded like." Feliciano shrugged. "But Gilbert wasn't having any of it. He told them all to go to hell and they weren't getting separated again. Lucky for him, they ended up in a better orphanage. They didn't put them in any homes, but they kept them together. That lasted until Gilbert was eighteen and he got a place of his own with Ludwig."

"What about their grandparents?" Alfred asked. "Aren't they loaded?"

"I don't know." Feliciano shrugged. "The way Ludwig talked, he didn't even know he had grandparents."

"If their grandparents are so rich, why are they still at a state university?" Matt asked. "Why not a better school?"

"Well, first, Gilbert just didn't have the grades. He was always working in high school and he didn't really care. Ludwig did and Gilbert told him to go to a good school, I guess, but he didn't want to go to a different school."

"That's kind of sweet." Matt said after a moment. "No wonder they're so close. I always kind of wondered, Gilbert seems like the kind of person to pick on his brother."

"What, all brothers pick on each other?" Alfred said indignantly.

"Alfred, I'm still missing a tooth from when you made me eat a nickel." Matt told him.

"You didn't have to _chew_ it." Alfred muttered. "Still, man, that's a messed up story."

"Isn't it?" Feliciano said. "Ludwig told me about it before they left. Ludwig didn't really sound like he's that bothered by it, but I don't know about Gilbert. He seems really bitter about everything."

"He doesn't even seem like it though." Alfred said, turning to actually do his job. "He's…well, always upbeat."

"I know." Matt agreed. "I mean, you'd never think…"

"Ludwig says he doesn't remember his parents very much." Feliciano said.

"That sucks so much." Alfred said, thinking back to his own parents. Sure, they were divorced, and sure, he only saw his mom like once a year since she'd moved back to Canada, but at least he _knew_ her.

"Kinda makes you wonder what we would have done if that happened to us." Matt said quietly.

"God, I don't even know." Alfred said. "I couldn't do what Gilbert did, I know that. Man, I'll never make fun of him again."

"Don't tell them you know." Feliciano begged suddenly. "I shouldn't have told you, but the drinks...they were so good… Especially with Gilbert in the hospital and all, you just can't tell anyone! Promise!"

"I swear, Feli." Alfred said.

"Same here. You know I wouldn't tell anyone." Matt said.

Feliciano sagged with relief. "Yeah. Okay. Just, don't say a word about it. Especially the part about me telling you."

"Got it." Alfred said, taking his empty glass. "But you've had enough to drink. Go find a ride."

Feliciano nodded sadly and turned to go. He was distracted by a sudden noise from his pocket.

"It's Ludwig!" he said excitedly, flipping his phone open. "Ludwig hi-"

His smile faded. "Why? Is he okay? What're they do- Oh. Well he'll be okay, right? Yeah. It's just a test. He'll be fine. Everything's good, right? Yeah. Yeah of course."

He closed the phone again and looked at it.

"What?" Alfred demanded.

"They're going to scan Gilbert's head." Feliciano said.

"Well…that's good though." Alfred said. "They're making sure everything's alright. We'll know more."

"Ludwig said it meant they were worried he's not going to wake up."


	4. The Good

Alfred stared at the empty seat in front of him. At the front of the room, the professor continued an equation across a third chalkboard.

Elizabeta shoved a note at him.

_Did Feliciano call yet?_

_No. He'll call tonight._

_What if something changed?_

_Then we'll know tonight._

_How can you stand not knowing?_

_Easy. I'm not crazy._

Elizabeta rolled her eyes and crumpled the note. Alfred shrugged and set his head down again. He was too tired to be worried right now. Next to him, Elizabeta fidgeted constantly. When, at last, class was out, she jumped to her feet.

"Maybe I should go down and check. You said Feli's phone was dying."

"If his phone died he'd use the hospital phone." Alfred soothed with as much patience as he could manage.

"Maybe something happened and they just didn't have time to call-"

"So you being there is only going to make things worse." Alfred told her, losing a battle with a yawn. "Just wait until tonight. And stop _fidgeting_, you're driving me insane."

* * *

Alfred was still yawing when he shoved Matt's key into the front door of the bar that night.

"You're gonna get me in trouble, Alfred…" Matt complained, following his brother inside anyway.

"Who's gonna know?"

"What if the boss comes back while we're here?"

"He's not gonna. He never shows up after four anyway." Alfred scoffed. He leaned over the bar for a bottle. "Everyone'll be here soon and Feli'll call us with an update and maybe Elizabeta can stop vibrating."

Since neither of them were working the bar that night, Alfred and Matt passed around a bottle or two as their friends filed in. The grim atmosphere faded and most of them forgot why they were even there in the first place as the first of the bottles emptied.

"Alfred!" someone called from the counter. Alfred turned, swinging a bottle of some sort of alcoholic drink with a massive kick from one hand. Antonio shoved the ringing phone into his hand.

"Hey! Hey everyone, shut up!" he shouted. "It's Feli!"

As drunken college students are not inclined to listen when someone yells 'shut up' into a crowd, Alfred pressed his hand over his ear and flipped open his phone, climbing onto the bar counter to get above the noise.

"Hey Feliciano! So, what's the diagnosis?"

"Alfred!" Feliciano sounded excited. "Hey, everyone's there, right?"

"Yeah, here let me turn you on speaker." Alfred said, holding the phone out in front of him and pressing the appropriate buttons. "EVERYONE SHUT UP."

At last, they took notice of him. It was silent in the bar.

"So how is he?" Alfred shouted in the direction of the phone.

"Wait a sec," Feliciano said. "Here." he said more faintly, as if he'd moved the phone.

"Hey, guys."

The bar exploded with the sound of drunken college students cheering and alcohol sloshing to the ground.


	5. The Bad

Gilbert's voice was raspy, but solid, at least. Ludwig leaned against the corner, watching Feliciano hold the phone to his ear. He could hear the noise from the bar on the other side of the room.

A nurse fiddling with some of the machines plugged into Gilbert cleared her throat and nodded to the 'no cellphones' sign.

"Gotta go. I'm in trouble." Gilbert laughed, and Feliciano took the phone in the hallway to update their friends. Gilbert watched the nurse with interest.

"What's that do?"

"Measures your heart rate."

"What about that one?"

"Measures your blood pressure."

"What about that thing?"

"That controls the morphine drip." she shoved something into his hand. "Press this to increase your dosage. There's a limit, so don't worry about overdosing."

"I'm not." he assured her, pressing the little button repeatedly. She straightened the cords and left them alone. Gilbert continued pressing the button in his hand until it emitted a small noise of protest.

"I think I broke it."

"You just reached the limit." Ludwig told him. Gilbert turned his head so he could see him with his uncovered eye.

"'s working though." he said, a smile creeping across his face.

"You're an idiot." Ludwig said sharply.

"Why? 'cause I'm using all the morphine now? I think it resets in like an hour-"

"Because you went driving drunk and crashed your stupid bike."

"What, you think I crashed?" he said, surprised. He tried to sit up, but the doctors had replaced the brace on his ribs and he apparently couldn't move.

"They found you at the entrance to the parking lot. You always go through too fast. I told you not to."

"No! Luddy, someone hit me!" he insisted. "You gotta believe me, there was this car, I was gonna make it through, it hit me from the side!"

"No car was around. They just found your bike twisted around a tree."

"My bike's totaled?" he asked, distraught. "Aw man, are you serious?"

"Gilbert, you're in the hospital!" Ludwig snapped. "You're lucky to be alive! They had to take a picture of your head!"

"Yeah, but my bike… What'd they do with it? Are you sure it can't be fixed?"

"They're putting metal in your arm, that's not as important? That'll be the second time you'll be in surgery in the last week." Ludwig shouted. "Because you had to go and crash into a tree!"

"I didn't crash! If I'd hit the tree I'd be dead, wouldn't I? The car knocked me off!"

"They said you weren't holding on very well." Ludwig said. "Like you always do when you're drunk."

"I didn't crash!"

Ludwig was quiet for a moment.

"Gilbert…you hit your head. Your memories are all screwed up." Ludwig said, more gently.

"I know what I saw." Gilbert said stubbornly.

* * *

Gilbert had never woken from the pull of anesthesia before. It was different from waking up from his temporary coma, certainly not as confusing.

But _damn_, his arm hurt. He blinked his eyes open slowly, squinting against the reddish light filtering through the window. It must be sunset. Or sunrise. Something.

He found the morphine button and pressed it repeatedly, wondering if he ought to ration it. Oh well, not something to worry about now.

As the sharp ache faded from his arm, he glanced around the room. Empty. For a split second he was terrified that Ludwig had left and wasn't coming back, but then he realized what a stupid thought that was. Although he hadn't realized how much of a comfort company had been.

The door opened and Ludwig returned, followed by a doctor that looked old enough to have retired twice over. He carried a few semi-transparent sheets, which he proceeded to hold up to the artificial light flooding in from the hall.

"We've been studying your scans." he said slowly, switching to a different sheet. "Obviously, as you're awake, there isn't any serious damage, but, we did notice…" he pointed out something Gilbert couldn't see from where he was. Ludwig leaned in closer to look. "Some damage here…and here."

"What's that mean?" Ludwig asked stiffly.

"Well this area," More pointing Gilbert couldn't see. "is associated with motor skills."

The doctor squinted at the scans for a moment longer before turning to Gilbert. "You may have trouble with some basic motor skills-"

"What, forever?" Gilbert interrupted.

"No, the areas are already mending and with proper training they should function normally. It doesn't seem permanent."

"What kind of motor skills?" Ludwig asked.

"Ah, it could be anything. Using a pencil, holding a glass, walking."

"But..but I'll heal right?" Gilbert said, trying to stop the hysterical note that crept into his voice.

"It looks promising."

"What about my hand? I can still use it, right?"

"There wasn't any damage to the nerves. It should be fully functional once it heals. But there may be some damage to these areas of your brain that impedes use, of course."

"So, what you're saying is, he'll be fine…but he might not be able to walk or hold a pencil?" Ludwig asked in a flat voice.

"Well, yes. There is a chance that he may never recover his motor skills completely." The doctor said.

"What are the chances of that happening?"

"About three out of ten cases lose complete control. The odds are in you favor, we'll get him in therapy sessions as soon as he's healed. The sooner the better."

Ludwig continued talking but Gilbert had stopped listening. Why bother paying attention? He'd already heard plenty.

The door shut and he was alone with Ludwig again.

"So." Gilbert said, trying to smile and finding it difficult.

"You have a seven out of ten chance, that's good." Ludwig told him, sounding as if he were convincing himself just as much as Gilbert.

"Hey, seventy percent, I told you I always get C's."

Ludwig gave a half-hearted chuckle.

"Hey, man, if I turn into a vegetable, don't feel responsible or something. Just stick me in a home."

"Don't be stupid. I can't afford a home." Ludwig said, sitting down.

"Yeah but…still." He muttered, looking down at the mess that was his arm.

"He said you'll get better."

"Yeah."


	6. We're Driving Tanks From Now On

"Alfred? Allllfred. Man, are you okay?"

Alfred jerked away from Matt's hand and blinked, coming out of some deep train of thought. Matt finished wiping down the counter as the last few customers finished off their drinks.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry." Alfred said, shaking his head. "I was just thinking."

"Well obviously. About what?"

"Stuff. Classes and all that. Do you think Gilbert'll come back this semester?"

"I don't know if Gilbert will be back this _year_. Just because he woke up doesn't mean he's alright. He might not be able to finish school."

"Man. That sucks so much." Alfred said, picking up the abandoned glasses at the other end of the bar.

"He's probably alright though." Matt added, not wanting his brother to be too concerned for no reason. "I mean, he did wake up. That's a good sign."

"Yeah you're right." Alfred said, pulling up a smile that didn't convince Matt for a second. "He'll be back next semester."

Matt nodded slowly and watched as the last customers left. He walked to the front door to lock it.

"Hey…hey Alfred, come look at this." he said quietly, squinting through the windowed door. "Turn the light off."

"What?" Alfred asked, a note of excitement creeping into his voice. Only Alfred…

The light switched off and Matt could get a better look outside through the dirty window. Alfred appeared at his shoulder.

"Right there. What's that look like to you?"

"Something illegal." Alfred whispered, practically vibrating.

Matt frowned. "Maybe…"

"Who's the brute on the right?"

"Why would I know that?" Matt demanded quietly.

"He looks familiar." Alfred muttered, squinting through the window. "That's…that's Ivan!"

Matt clamped a hand over his mouth, not eager to be caught spying on the man across the street.

"Yeah, that looks like Ivan." Matt nodded. "I guess it's hard to mistake him."

"Who's that though?" Alfred muttered, trying to get a better view by pushing Matt out of the way. Matt pushed back.

"I don't know, stop it."

"He's got a gun! Look, there it is!" Alfred said in a loud whisper.

"What? Don't be stupid, there's no gun."

"I saw a gun."

"You're imagining things." Matt scoffed. "You have an overactive imagination."

"I saw a gun." Alfred said stubbornly.

"Okay, fine, there was a gun. So what are they doing now?"

"I don't kno-LOOK!"

He'd finally caught their attention. Matt grabbed him and hauled him away from the window.

"Into the back, quick!" he said in a hoarse whisper. Alfred beat him there.

"Did they see us?" Alfred whispered.

"I don't know… do you hear anything?"

They listened, staring at each other in the dark of the back room, ears pressed to the door.

"I didn't lock the door." Matt said. "What if they just come in?"

"They've got a gun! What if they're in the mafia or something and now we've seen them and they're gonna kill us execution-style on our knees! We need weapons, I think there's a knife back here somewhere, help me find it-"

"Alfred they aren't in the mafia." Matt cut off his brother, annoyed.

"Maybe they're not even human, maybe they're aliens-"

"Alfred."

"Okay, okay, so they're just two normal guys talking in the middle of the street at two in the morning maybe with a gun."

"It's weird, but I think you're letting your imagination run away from you again. This isn't a comic book, Alfred…."

"Fine. But if they come in I'm telling them to kill you first."

"Fine." Matt pushed open the door. "They aren't here. Let's lock up and get out of here. I'm driving."

* * *

"Hey, Feliciano!" Alfred called out, waving his arm frantically.

"Oh, hi Alfred!" Feliciano said, dancing towards them, curly hair bouncing. "Hi Matt!" he added.

"Hey, when can we go see Gilbert?" Alfred asked impatiently. "I gotta see him, he must be so bored."

"Oh." Feliciano's smile fell a little. "I..I think Ludwig doesn't want anyone there for right now."

"Why?" Alfred demanded.

"Alfred…" Matt sighed, knowing it would do no good.

"Well Gilbert's still in pretty bad shape and he's on morphine so he's kind of out of it." Feliciano said, twisting his fingers together.

"So?" Alfred demanded.

"I don't know, Alfred, I'll ask Ludwig today."

"So you're going back to the hospital?"

"I'm bringing them their schoolwork. But I think Gilbert is just dropping out for the semester."

"Well…tell Gilbert we miss him. And get better and all that. And let them know if they need anything they just have to ask." Alfred said, slightly disappointed.

"From both of us." Matt added.

Feliciano brightened. "Alright! I'll tell him. I'll let you know when you can go see him."

Lovino yelled at him from across the quad and he hurried away, giving them a wave as he left. Alfred returned it halfheartedly. Matt sighed and pulled him away.

"Come on, Alfred, we have homework to finish before our shift tonight."

* * *

"You!"

There was a lull in art class that Alfred was filling by sleeping. Around them, people poked at rough sculptures and finished off old drawings. Matt was doing homework he'd gotten backlogged on.

"What?" Alfred said suddenly, scrubbing his eyes and trying to look as if he hadn't been asleep.

Elizabeta slammed something down in front of him. "Sign this."

"What is it?"

"A get-well card for Gilbert."

"Why are you making him a get-well card?"

"Because he's in the hospital. That's what you do for people in the hospital. You give them cards."

Alfred continued rubbing his eye. "Don't they sell those?"

"If it's homemade it's from the heart!" Elizabeta insisted angrily, shoving a pen at him. "Write something!"

"Okay, okay, don't stab me, I don't want to end up in the hospital too." Alfred said, taking the pen. "What am I supposed to write?"

"Just write something nice." Elizabeta said, crossing her arms. "And don't make it stupid."

"Gilbert likes stupid."

"It's in bad taste. It's a get-well card."

"You've mentioned that."

"Write something nice!" Elizabeta shouted.

Alfred scribbled something inside the crowded card. It seemed he wasn't the first to sign it.

"What's wrong with Gilbert?" someone asked Elizabeta. She turned away from Alfred for a moment to answer. Her mistake.

"Oh, hi Katyusha!" she said. "He's in the hospital, didn't you hear?"

Katyusha shook her head. "I've been out of the country with my family. I only got back a few days ago. What happened?"

"He crashed his motorcycle into a tree."

Katyusha's hands went to her mouth. "Oh my gosh! Is he okay?"

"We were scared he wouldn't wake up but he's awake now. But they think he's got brain damage."

"That's horrible! Poor Gilbert." she cried.

While the girls continued talking Matt leaned over his brother's shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Telling Gilbert to get well the best way I know how."

"What is that supposed to be?"

"That? That's a rocket ship."

"What's 'five meters' mean?"

"It's an inside joke. Don't worry about it."

"Elizabeta's gonna kill you."

"It's worth it."

"Let me just sign it before she force-feeds you her pen."

Matt signed the card quickly, crushing his signature in the corner, along with a quick 'get well soon'. It seemed Alfred had said all that needed to be said.

* * *

"Are you stealing food again?" Alfred asked.

"Shut up. He'll never notice." Matt mumbled around his mouthful of stolen chicken wings. "He's too busy talking to the girl who forgot to wear a bra today."

"I don't think she forgot." Alfred said in an admiring voice.

"Did you turn the air on?"

"I might have."

"You're terrible." Matt said, leaving enough food on the plate he was stealing from that the man wouldn't notice. If he even came back.

"I'm not the one stealing."

"No, you're just drinking everything in sight."

Alfred took a long drink from the bottle in his hand. "No I'm not."

"Okay Alfred." Matt rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth. They stole food from the bar regularly. It was better than living off dry cereal and uncooked ramen. Right?

"Did you study for your Calculus test?"

"Totally." Alfred said, tapping his fingers on the counter. "Okay I looked at the book. But it's so hard!"

"Please don't fail out of a class. Not this year." Matt begged. "We could have used the money you put towards it for a fridge."

"Okay, okay, I'll study." Alfred promised.

His phone vibrated on the back counter. "Can you get that?" he asked, pulling out a chilled glass.

Matt picked the phone up.

"Ludwig?"

"Maybe Feli's phone died. Just answer it."

"Hello?" he said, flipping it open.

"Hey Alfred I need a favor." Gilbert's voice was running together.

"It's Matt. What do you need?"

"Matt. Right. I knew that. Look I need you to kidnap Ludwig."

"Uh…" Matt said, wondering just how much morphine Gilbert was on.

"Look I know it sounds crazy but I swear I'm totally sane right now. He left to get something to eat and left his phone, you gotta come and force him to go home, I don't think he's slept in four days."

"We can't just force him to go home." Matt said. "If you want him to sleep just as-"

"Uhhgg you sound like Feli. Give the phone to Alfred."

Matt handed off the phone. "It's Gilbert."

"I'm not crazy!" came the voice from the phone.

"Gilbert?" Alfred said in confusion. A moment later he realized what Matt had said and snatched the phone away eagerly, nearly taking a few of Matt's fingers with it. "Gilbert! Are you okay? Does hospital food really suck? What number am I thinking of?"

Matt shook his head and went back into the kitchen to run the dishwasher. While he was busy shoving the bottom drawer back into place, Alfred appeared in the door.

"Hey Matt, can we-"

"We are not kidnapping Ludwig." Matt told him shortly.

"Wh-come on, Gilbert needs us!"

"You just want to see him."

"That's completely beside the point." Alfred said stubbornly. "I want to help my friend. If you don't I guess you're just not a good friend."

"Okay, fine, Alfred, we will go. But _after_ work."

"Okay!" Alfred said happily. He disappeared back into the front of the bar. Matt rolled his eyes and pulled the heavy lid of the dishwasher down.

* * *

"That's the last of them! Let's go, let's go, let's go come on Gilbert called like two hours ago!" Alfred said, bouncing.

"Calm down!" Matt told him sternly. "They probably won't even let you in the room."

"Why?" Alfred whined.

"Because it's way past visiting hours and you're not a relative."

"But…but Gilbert wants me there! That counts!"

Matt sighed and locked the front door. He glanced outside. No one.

"Any more of those mafia guys?" Alfred asked.

"No, Alfred." Matt said. "Go make sure I turned the oven off."

"Okay." Alfred disappeared back into the kitchen.

Matt looked through the window again. Maybe they really _were _in the mafia… He shook his head. Alfred was getting to him.

Alfred was practically running in circles with anticipation. Matt sighed and opened the back door. Alfred made to push past him.

"Wait." Matt said quietly, pulling the door back a little.

"What? What?" Alfred said urgently, peering out of the crack. "Are those the same guys?"

"I think…"

"Hey, what if they see us?" Alfred said suddenly. "We're gonna get shot!"

"Shut up!" Matt said sharply, closing the door. "They're not in the mafia!"

"You don't know!" Alfred said "What if they're in a gang too?"

"Too?" Matt asked incredulously. "They're in the mafia _and _a gang? What's wrong with you?"

"I saw in a movie once! They were double agents and also police officers trying to bring down the mafia and the local gang!" Alfred was rooting around in a drawer. "And then the gang turned out to be run by a vampire! And the mafia boss was a werewolf!"

He pulled something out of the drawer. "The only way to kill a werewolf is to shoot it with a silver bullet, right? How do you kill a vampire? Garlic? Do we have garlic?"

"Alfred, what are you planning to do with a spatula? Spank them to death?"

"Uh.." Alfred looked at it. "I couldn't find a knife."

"Put the spatula back."

"But what if-!"

"Alfred, if you don't put it back and calm down we aren't going to the hospital."

Alfred seemed torn for a moment. Then he sadly replaced the spatula.

"Okay. Let's go."

Matt cracked open the door. "They're gone."

"You know ghosts-"

"Alfred."

"Okay! Okay, sorry."

Matt locked the door behind them and led the way to the parking lot. Alfred was apparently trying to see over both shoulders at once.

"I'm driving." Matt said once they're reached the car.

"But-"

"No."

Alfred groaned and slid through the passenger side window.

"That door works you know."

"This is more fun."

Matt shook his head and climbed into the car in the most dignified way possible. He ended up toppling through headfirst, like always.

"We need a new car." he muttered as he started the engine. It made a sound like a gunshot and roared to life.

"Aw, don't listen Suzy." Alfred cooed, patting the dashboard. "I still love you."

Matt chuckled and pulled out of the parking lot. They were quiet while Alfred resumed his bouncing.

"Hey…not to sound..drunk.. but, is that car following us?" Alfred said, glancing over his shoulder. Matt looked in the rearview mirror.

"They're just behind us." he said calmly.

"But they've been there for like three turns." Alfred said worriedly.

"Maybe they're going to the hospital. Where else is there to go at two in the morning?"

"I guess…" Alfred said, unconvinced. He continued to look over his shoulder.

"He's riding me really hard though." Matt said, speeding up. He didn't like people driving so close behind him. The car kept close to their bumper.

"Matt…" Alfred said.

"They're probably drunk."

"Matt!"

For a moment he thought the car had produced the ear-shattering noise. Then he realized what Alfred was saying.

"A gun! I told you they had a gun! Oh my god they're gonna shoot us! Drive faster faster faster faster!"

Matt stuck his foot down on the accelerator but the old car could only go so fast. Whoever was behind them caught up easily.

They sped down the street and Matt was thankful it was straight. He didn't think the car could handle a sharp turn at this speed.

They were almost at the hospital. Would that stop them? Could they make it inside in time? There was security at the hospital, right?

As suddenly as they'd appeared, they were gone. Matt's fingers were hurting from holding the wheel so hard. Just one more turn and they'd be at the hospital… maybe they should stay there a while…

"Matt!" Alfred shouted. But Matt saw the car. It appeared out nowhere, coming straight at them. It was a solid, thick-sided SUV. If it hit them head-on their car would crumple against it like a bug.

Matt swerved hard. They slid through the entrance to the hospital parking lot.

And into a pole.


	7. Crying Over Spilled Motor Oil

Matt wasn't sure where he was for a moment. Everything looked blurry. He realized after a moment that he wasn't wearing his glasses.

He was in the car..? Why would he be sleeping in the car..?

And then he remembered. He looked around frantically for the giant car that had come at them but he didn't have his glasses on and everything was just a blur. He scrambled for them and found them, mercifully intact, on the floor.

He shoved them on and looked around. Nothing. There was no one there.

He let out a sigh of relief. What the hell had that been?

"Hey Al, you okay?" he rasped.

No response. He nudged his brother, thinking maybe he had fallen unconscious like him.

What if he'd hit his head? What if he was unconscious like Gilbert and-

Alfred groaned.

"Oh thank God." Matt sighed. "Al, are you okay?"

"I 'unno." he said thickly. "Ahhhh…."

"Alfred?" Matt asked, leaning over to see his brother better.

"Ahh…Matt, my arm…." he mumbled.

"Are you okay?" Matt repeated, trying to see Alfred's arm, but he was turned slightly away. Matt turned to the window to get out and found it broken.

"Aw crap." he muttered. "Al, you're so lucky I love you.."

* * *

Alfred sat completely still, something that he never did. Matt watched anxiously as the doctors examined the twisted joint.

"Is he okay? He's okay, right?" Matt asked.

"I'm fine MaAAAHHH." Alfred's voice jumped as the doctor twisted his elbow back into position. Alfred began a string of curses.

"He's fine." The doctor said, holding Alfred's arm in place. "He'll need a cast for a few weeks, but it's a pretty standard break."

"I'm so sorry Alfred, I can't believe I crashed." Matt said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Hey, if you hadn't swerved we would've been a bug on that car's bumper." Alfred said, out of breath from cursing.

Matt watched the doctor wipe away the blood from Alfred's arm.

"At least it's not your writing arm."

"Yeah." Alfred said, biting his lip as the doctor carefully bent his arm into place and slid a sock over it.

While the doctor finished wrapping it, Alfred looked up. "Hey, I totally have an excuse to see Gilbert now. You've got a concussion, you're not supposed to go to sleep. And we're here…"

"Alfred, it's three in the morning, I think Gilbert's asleep." Matt sighed. "Besides, I'm pretty sure visiting hours are over." He looked at the doctor for confirmation.

"Visiting hours are three to five." He nodded.

"We're his uncles." Alfred said, straight-faced.

* * *

"Would you knock?" Matt said angrily as Alfred reached the door they'd been informed was Gilbert's. Alfred took his hand off the knob and reached up to knock. Matt doubted the doctor had taken Alfred at his word about the 'uncle' story, but he'd probably just taken pity on them.

"Quietly. They're probably asleep." Matt added.

Alfred scoffed and knocked softly.

"See? They're asleep-" Matt said.

The door opened.

"Hey Ludwig, our car exploded, can we come in?" Alfred said proudly.

"You..what?"

"We crashed in the parking lot. If you don't want us we'll go." Matt told him over his brother's bouncing shoulder.

"I…yeah. Sure." Ludwig said after a moment, looking down at Alfred's arm. He moved back and pulled open the door. "He's not supposed to sleep anyway. Some experimental medication."

"Gilbert!" Alfred said, rushing in.

"Alfred! Oh my god you have no idea how bored I am!" Gilbert said, sitting up. Alfred threw his unhurt arm around Gilbert and the other responded, in a bizarre form of one-armed hug.

"Dude what're they doing to you?" Alfred asked, looking at the machines connected to Gilbert.

"I don't know but I'm totally cool with it." Gilbert said, holding something up for Alfred to see. "You know what this does? It gives me drugs."

"Awesome."

"I know."

"You're only supposed to use it when you absolutely need it." Ludwig said sternly.

"I do need it! They cut open my arm!" Gilbert said defiantly.

"What is it?"

"Morphine."

"Oh, they gave me some of that in the emergency room." Alfred said excitedly. "It was _amazing_."

"Isn't it? Dude press it."

Alfred did, and in a moment a grin spread across Gilbert's face.

"You just get to press it whenever?"

"It's set to a timer or something, I don't know. It keeps me from, like, overdosing." Gilbert said. "Hey, look, they put metal in my arm."

He held up his arm, which was bandaged tightly.

"Did it hurt?"

"Like a bitch." Gilbert said. "It's better now. They increased my morphine too, so it wasn't that bad. What happened to you, though?"

"Matt crashed the car." Alfred said, holding out his arm as best his could in its sling.

"Someone was chasing us!" Matt insisted.

"What?" Ludwig asked.

"Yeah, man, it was crazy." Alfred said, with the tone Matt knew preceded an exaggerated story. "We were at the bar, right? And we were getting ready to leave and these guys were outside, just talking. And yesterday we saw them in front of the bar, and they had a gun! Matt says there wasn't a gun but I saw a gun. And so we went back inside 'cause, like, what if they shot us? So then we looked outside and they were _gone_ and we were like 'oh, okay, they're gone, we're okay' so we get in Suzy and Matt just _has_ to drive, and maybe if he hadn't insisted my arm might not be broken-"

"Sure, make me feel worse." Matt said angrily.

"It's totally not your fault, Matt, sorry. Okay so then we were just driving and then this car is behind us and I'm like 'Matt they're following us' and he's like 'nuh uh' and then they _shoot_ at us and there's this awesome car chase and we just barely make it around a corner but now they're _ahead _of us and Matt swerves and we wind up in the hospital parking lot totally crashed into this pole and they're, like, _gone_."

Alfred seemed exhausted from his story telling but Gilbert had only become more excited. "Dude that's _awesome_."

"I know!"

"You like, escaped death."

"Well so did you."

"Oh yeah." Gilbert seemed to have genuinely forgotten. "Escaping death high five."

"Is that true?" Ludwig asked Matt quietly.

"Yeah, mostly." Matt said, surprised himself. Usually Alfred's stories were just nonsense. He supposed this was just exciting enough to get by without elaboration.

"So are they feeding you?" Alfred asked.

"Not really. They're worried my stomach was damaged or something stupid. I'm on a strictly IV diet."

"That…sucks…so much…" Alfred said, in shock.

"Alfred, how is that the worst thing about this situation?" Matt sighed.

"Oh my god, it's so terrible." Gilbert insisted. "I'm not hungry but I'm like…empty. I wanna eat!"

"When can you eat?"

"Probably tomorrow when this stupid medication I'm not supposed to sleep with wears off." Gilbert said, shrugging lopsidedly. "They said everything looks normal."

"I will bring you a giant cheeseburger."

"Please do!" Gilbert begged.

"You're not supposed to have outside food." Ludwig reminded him.

"Man…" Gilbert muttered. "Still sneak it in anyway." he added quietly to Alfred. Ludwig rolled his eyes.

They continued to talk in that same excited, overly-caffeinated manner. Matt yawned.

"Do you want us to get out of here?" he asked Ludwig. "I mean, we kinda invaded."

Ludwig paused for a moment. "No, it's fine, you can stay here for the night. He's happier than he's been in days anyway."

Matt believed it. Alfred and Gilbert were now watching the heartbeat monitor with fascination while Gilbert held his breath and tried to spell something out with his now-erratic heartbeat.

"I guess you couldn't get home, at any rate." Ludwig added.

"Yeah, that's true." Matt nodded.

"Wait, Suzy's not totaled, is she?" Gilbert said suddenly, letting out his breath.

"She is!" Alfred cried, amazingly enough, bursting into tears.

"My motorcycle is too!" Gilbert said, copying him. They sobbed on each other's shoulders.

"Alfred your arm is broken, why are you upset about your car right now?" Matt asked, incredulous.

"Gilbert did the same thing." Ludwig said, shaking his head. "About an hour after he woke up. Didn't care he'd crushed his arm, just wanted to know where is motorcycle was."

Matt watched them slowly cry themselves out.

The door opened again and what was probably either a doctor or a self-important nurse walked in, eyes on a clipboard in his hand. He looked up at the pair sobbing on the bed.

"It's about cars." Ludwig dismissed immediately.

"Ah. Well, the medication should have worn off by now, and since there's been no side effects, we'll be keeping him on it, though we may adjust the dosage."

"What does it do?" Ludwig asked.

"It'll help his body accept the metal we've placed in it." the doctor told them in a bored tone. "He'll heal faster, basically."

"Can he sleep now?"

"Of course."

"What about eat?" Gilbert called, wiping furiously at his eyes. "Can I eat now?"

"We'd like to wait until morning, and we should reduce your IV drip before you eat anything."

"But…I can eat tomorrow?"

"If all goes well."

He and Alfred cheered.

* * *

Drowsily, Matt sat on a cramped loveseat couch by the door. Alfred and Gilbert had fallen asleep against each other. Ludwig was a conscious but silent companion on the other side of the room.

He was watching Gilbert sleep with an unreadable expression. Matt wondered what it was like, to see the man who'd raised him so pathetically hurt. Just seeing Alfred with his arm twisted around had driven Matt into a panic until they'd given Alfred morphine and he'd managed to tell Matt there was nothing to be so concerned about.

Matt rubbed his eyes and tried to stay awake. He'd hit his head hard enough earn himself a concussion, and he was not to sleep. Well, not so much 'not to sleep' as 'not to sleep without someone checking on you every few hours'. He loved Alfred but he didn't trust him that much.

Alfred's phone went off. Matt pulled it from Alfred's pocket before it woke either of the injured boys up and stepped into the hall.

"Alfred! Where are you, I heard you crashed your car-"

"It's Matt."

"Where's Alfred?" Arthur demanded angrily.

"Asleep."

"Where are you?"

"At the hospital. Visiting Gilbert." he added quickly.

"Well…is he okay?"

"He broke his arm, but yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. He'll be at school day after tomorrow."

"Why not tomorrow?"

"Because we crashed the car and Alfred broke his arm."

"You were in the car?"

"Yeah, I was driving."

"You crashed the car and broke Alfred's arm?"

"It's a long story and I'll let him tell you." Matt yawned. "If you don't mind I have to go not sleep for a few more hours."

Matt hung up the phone and turned it off to prevent any more interruptions before he slipped back inside. No one had moved. He collapsed on the sofa again and, despite his best efforts, fell asleep.


	8. Boston Harbor Never Saw it Coming

"Matt?" Alfred shook Matt's shoulder repeatedly. "Matt! Wake up! What's your name? How old are you? What's Mom's maiden name?"

"Uhhnnn… Matt, twenty, Williams." Matt pushed his hand away and rolled over again.

"Lemme see your pupils." Alfred said urgently.

"They're fine, let me sleep…"

Alfred rolled his brother over and peeled back his eyelids.

"Oh my god Matt your eyes look so weird!"

"That's because you're pulling them open, stupid, get off me!" Matt pushed him away and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "That hurt, idiot."

"Sorry." But now Alfred could see they were normal. "You could have been, like, in a coma. Or something."

"Not if I _told_ you I was awake."

"Something could have happened."

"Alfred's right, brain damage is serious shit." Gilbert yawned. Alfred wasn't sure if he'd just woken him up or if he'd been awake. "Hey, did they stick your head in the big machine thing that makes a ton of noise?"

"That was the MRI, Gilbert." Ludwig said tiredly. Had he slept at all last night?

"That thing. That thing was freaky. That's what I woke up in."

"Really?" Alfred asked eagerly. "What did it sound like?"

"Like someone was banging on a giant machine."

"Nah, they didn't do anything like that, they said he was fine."

"Well don't sound _disappointed_." Matt said angrily.

"Well it would have been cool to see." Alfred said truthfully.

"For you."

"Exactly."

"Did they x-ray your arm?" Gilbert asked.

"Yeah, after they gave me the morphine." Alfred nodded. "So I don't remember much about it."

"I do. You made a lot of unnecessary noise and moved when they told you not to." Matt muttered.

"Well my arm was obviously broken." Alfred said.

"They had to see how, Alfred." Matt yawned, standing up. "We should go. We've been completely invasive."

"Awww…" Alfred said miserably.

"Don't go, it's so boring here!" Gilbert called as Matt dragged him out of the room by his good arm.

"Maatttt…" Alfred whined. Matt didn't let up.

"Well, come back later!" Gilbert shouted as the door swung shut behind them.

Alfred moaned as Matt continued to lead him down the hall.

"Gilbert totally wanted us to stay!"

"But Ludwig didn't."

Alfred hadn't thought about that.

"Why not?"

"Because he's stressed and doesn't need us hanging around, Al." Matt said quietly.

"But… man we were supposed to get Ludwig to go home."

"Alfred, if I was in the hospital, would you appreciate anyone coming to tell you where you ought to be?"

"I guess not…"

* * *

"You saw Gilbert." Elizabeta's finger practically stabbed a hole in his shirt.

"Wha-yeah. 'cause I was in the hospital." Alfred said defensively, holding up his casted arm for her to see. "If you want, I can like, crash your car and you can go see him too." He left out that they'd been going to see him anyway.

"How is he?"

"He's okay." Alfred said, pushing her finger away. "You know, for his ex-girlfriend you seem really concerned."

"I've known Gilbert since high school, of course I'm concerned." Elizabeta said defensively. She caught sight of something over his shoulder. "Speaking of overly-concerned ex's…"

She turned and left. Alfred was afraid he knew what she meant but-

"Alfred! Why didn't you call me? Matt told you I called, didn't he?"

"Ah…hi Arthur."

* * *

Art class. So relaxing.

Or not.

Elizabeta dragged her chair to Alfred and Matt's table.

"Sup boys?"

"Hey Elizabeta." Alfred mumbled, stifling a yawn. Matt smiled in greeting.

"What're you making?"

"The most amazing piece of nothing you have ever seen." Alfred said, adding more glue.

"Wasting supplies?"

"It's like a bad habit. I can't stop."

"So, Alfred, just wondering," Elizabeta said in the voice that meant she was about to rip open some souls. "what's up with you and Arthur?"

Alfred continued his mess. "What do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"I mean you two exploded apart and he's still sticking to you like nothing ever happened."

"Relationships are complicated." Alfred said, shrugging.

Elizabeta made a disgruntled noise and set her elbows on the table, hands cupping her chin. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Elizabeta, do you always have to go tearing off scabs?"

"Yes."

"Fine. He's an old family friend, we've known him for, like, ever." Alfred said quickly, trying to get it over with.

"Longer than forever." Matt added, working on an actual project. "His parents and our parents were friends since college."

"Right. We used to visit them all the time. Like every summer." Alfred nodded. "Then his parents up and decided to move back to the States."

"They lived here before?"

"Sure, they grew up here. Well, his mom did, his dad's as English as you get." Alfred found that he'd managed to get his fingers glued together. "He was not pleased about the decision."

"Arthur?"

"Yeah. He misses England a lot. He's not fond of America." Alfred pulled at the glue, frowning. "So his parents were like 'hey, why don't you go to school with Alfred and Matt?' and he just got stuffed over here with us. Matt?"

Matt sighed and set down his pencil, reaching up to pull Alfred's fingers apart.

"He was staying at our house before term started and…I dunno. He'd always been like a cousin but then I was just thinking…his accent…was kinda sexy."

"Is that it?" Elizabeta asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, no, but that was the main reason I kissed hi-IIIMMM." Alfred flexed his fingers. "You tore my skin off."

"You're the one that glued them together." Matt pointed out, turning back to his project.

"You kissed _him_?" Elizabeta prompted. "I always thought he made the first move."

"Artie? Nah, I mean, I think he always sorta liked me, but he wouldn't have admitted it." Alfred said distractedly, still looking at his fingers. "So we dated. And it was awesome, I won't lie. And then we left for college."

"That's when you fell apart?"

"That's when Artie decided to be a control freak." Alfred corrected. "He needed to control _everything_. And I was so fed up with it. We started arguing about the stupidest little things."

"Like tea." Matt chuckled.

"Oh my god, tea." Alfred said, shaking his head.

"Tea?"

"Arthur was always trying to force his weird British tea-drinking habits on me and…it wasn't that I didn't like tea, it's okay, I just didn't like how he made me drink it. Every day. So finally I told him 'Fuck you, fuck your tea', and I flushed it down the toilet."

"What?" Elizabeta asked, laughing. "You flushed his tea down the toilet?"

"I flushed every drop of tea in the house down the stupid toilet. And he wasn't happy."

"He was furious."

"He _was_ furious." Alfred nodded. "So I told him I wanted to break up because I didn't need him controlling my life."

"And he didn't take it very well?" Elizabeta asked.

"He refused to accept it." Alfred said, rolling his eyes. "He said I was just being 'rebellious' and told me to just calm down and apologize for flushing his tea. So I went to just walk out and he was blocking the door. So I punched him."

"You…_punched_ Arthur?" Elizabeta asked, awed. "Just right there, in the face?"

"Yup. He wouldn't talk to me for like ever." Alfred went back to making his mess. "He still sorta feels like he has to make sure I'm not fucking up my life."

"Wow." Elizabeta said, leaning back. "I thought me and Gilbert had a messed up break up story."

"Yeah. I win." Alfred laughed triumphantly.

"Do you ever regret it?"

"You mean, do I still love him?" Alfred asked. "I mean, I guess I never really _didn't_, I just hated him more than I loved him, you know?"

"Do you think he still loves you?"

Alfred frowned at his art project. "I…guess. I mean, he still does stuff like make sure I didn't kill myself in a car accident and make sure I'm okay, but I can't tell if that's just from our childhood, 'cause he was always kind of protective, he's two years older than us, or if he regrets our break up."

"Man. That's some complicated stuff." Elizabeta said. "You know what else is complicated?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me." Alfred said, scribbling on his mess with one of Matt's pens when he wasn't looking.

"Motor skills. Apparently it can be very tricky to regain use of something if your brain's been damaged like that."

"And he'll get better and it won't be a problem anymore. Someone should take away your internet connection if you're going to abuse it like this."

Elizabeta scoffed.


	9. The Ugly

"I still can't believe you're working tonight."

"Shut up, we need the money. And Boss said no time off."

"We could live off one salary until you got a new job…"

"Not with hospital bills we couldn't." Alfred carefully balanced several glasses as he walked back into the kitchen. "I totally get why Luddy's so stressed. We were in there like an hour and the bill is like five classes worth of money."

"And, you know, his brother's in the hospital." Matt called after him.

Alfred set the glasses down in the sink and sighed with relief. Bartending with one arm was _hard_. He turned to leave when something caught his eye. How long had _that _been there?

"Hey Matt!" he called over his shoulder.

"Working!"

"Come here!"

A few minutes later Matt followed him into the kitchen. "What? It's busy tonight."

"This. Did you know this?"

"What?" Matt came to look over his shoulder. "What is that?"

"Did you know Boss' name?" Alfred said, pointing out the name on the plaque he'd been squinting at.

"I…no, I guess." Matt said, sounding surprised. "How did he hide his name from us? What's written on our paychecks?"

"I never checked." Alfred said, suddenly laughing. "He just said to call him Boss, maybe he didn't want us to know…"

"Don't make a big deal about this." Matt sighed.

"But..but…" Alfred pointed frantically at the plague. "Our boss is Roderich Edelstein."

* * *

Alfred's casted elbow hit the desk with a loud _thunk_.

"Hi there Roddy."

Roderich jumped slightly at the noise. "Oh, hi Alfred. How's the arm?"

"You know. Broken. Hey, so I was wondering, were you named after your dad?"

Roderich twisted his pencil in his hand. "Uh…yeah, I guess."

"You guess?"

Roderich looked down at the pencil. "Well…the name Roderich has been in our family since before we came to America…Technically I'm…." he mumbled something.

"What was that?" Alfred asked, grinning.

"I'm…Roderich the eighth…"

"So your dad owns the bar?"

"Yeah. And…the others."

"It's a chain?" Alfred asked, surprised. "Like, McDonalds?"

"No, they all have different names, some aren't bars… My family has a habit of collecting businesses."

Alfred leaned back, watching the professor walk in. "So…you're rich?"

"My family has old money." Roderich corrected.

"How much old money? Hey, wait, if you're rich, why are you going to a State University? You could be at, like, Harvard or something."

"We usually go out of the country for education." Roderich muttered.

"How far out of the country?"

"Austria, usually."

"Austria? What's Austria?" Alfred said, trying to think. "Is that in Europe?"

"It's a German country in the middle of Europe." Roderich squirmed. "Alfred you should sit down, class is about to start-"

"Okay, okay, just one quick question. Why didn't you do that? Go back to Austria or whatever?"

"Alfred!" the teacher called.

"Sorry, I'm sitting, I'm sitting." Alfred said quickly, returning to his seat.

* * *

"Hey Elizabeta!" Alfred said cheerfully, waving at her across the classroom.

"Hi Alfred." she said brightly. "How's the arm?"

"Good." Alfred said. "Hey, I was wondering, did you know Roderich's dad owns the bar me and Matt work at?"

"He does?" Elizabeta said, surprised. "He didn't mention."

"Isn't that kind of weird? I mean, you guys are getting married, and all."

"He doesn't get along with his family that well." Elizabeta dismissed Alfred's question. "I'm not surprised, he doesn't talk about them much."

"Did you know they're rich?"

"Of course, Alfred." Elizabeta said, aggravated. "Now don't you have something to work on? _Besides_ a mess?"

* * *

"Hey Roddy." Elizabeta leaned up on her toes and kissed him. Roderich responded, as always, gently, barely brushing her lips. "How are you?"

"Oh, tired." he said vaguely. "Have a good day?"

She slipped her arm through his as they walked back towards the dorms.

"Hey, Roddy, I was just wondering, you never talk about your family much." she said carelessly, as if it wasn't something she'd been thinking about constantly. She'd lied to Alfred, Roderich had never said a word about his family.

"Oh, you know, they're far away." he said, sounding uninterested. "What about yours? How's your Dad?"

"Fine." she said, keeping the growing annoyance out of her voice. "But what about yours? You're from Austria, right?"

"My parents are."

"Is your name Austrian?"

"It's… kind of."

Elizabeta sighed internally. If he wanted to do this the hard way…well he knew her well enough by now, didn't he?

"When can I meet your family?"

"At the wedding, dear."

"But, I want to meet them before then." Elizabeta said, letting a hint of a whine creep into her voice. "We've barely planned anything! We don't even have a date set."

"I thought you wanted to set it in the summer?"

"I do. How about June?" she said. She'd given it plenty of thought, of course. "June eighth."

"June eighth sounds wonderful."

Elizabeta let go of his arm to clap happily. "Yay!"

Roderich smiled. "That's still eight months away."

"There's so much to plan, though! I have to call my dad. And you have to introduce me to your family before then, Roderich!" she turned to dash away, a million things going through her head.

Roderich caught her hand. "That can wait."

"But there's so much to do, and we've still got school and-"

"It can wait until _tomorrow._" he said, taking her in his arms.

She sighed happily and set her head on his shoulder. "It can wait."

* * *

Elizabeta curled her hands under Roderich's neck, chin on his bare chest. He ran a finger gently down her spine.

"We'll be late for class if we don't get up soon." he said quietly.

"So we'll be late for class." she murmured. Early morning light was just starting to creep in through the thick curtains, above them, someone shuffled noisily across the floor.

"I feel bad for whoever is underneath my dorm." he said.

"Oh well." she dismissed.

He laughed softly and kissed her forehead. She leaned up and their lips met, melting together like they always did. Yes, they would definitely be late for class.

Something vibrated on the dresser.

"My phone." she said breathlessly, pulling away.

"Let it ring."

"But it might be news about Gilbert."

"Nothing's going to change in ten minutes." he insisted, arms pinning her to him.

She bit her lip and reached out from the twisted blankets for the phone.

"It's Feli. See, I told you." she murmured. "Hi Feli."

Roderich continued kissing her neck as she talked.

"Elizabeta, sorry, it's kinda early, I didn't know when you got into class. Did I wake you?"

"No, I was just getting up. What's up?"

"Gilbert's getting the bandages taken off his face today, and they'll know if he'll have a scar or not." Feliciano said, speaking quietly into the phone. "Later today. They said medically there's no reason he can't have visitors after that, but he might not want anyone around. We don't know what it looks like under there."

"We can see him today?" Elizabeta said excitedly, pushing herself up off Roderich's chest, breaking his hold. "When? I can skip…what do I have today? History? I can skip that. When can I see him?"

"Well they're taking the bandages off his face at ten but Ludwig says to tell everyone to wait until he says it's okay to come. And that might not be for a while."

"Well make sure he knows how much I want to see him. Tell Gilbert I said hi! And good luck and all that!"

"I will. I've got to call everyone else, I knew you'd want to know first."

"Thanks, Feli."

Elizabeta tossed the phone back onto the bed and threw her feet out from under the blankets, getting up and digging through the drawer she'd taken of Roderich's dresser.

Roderich sat up. "Do you have to go _now?_"

"I want to be ready. Gilbert's getting his bandages off today and they said he can have visitors."

"When?"

"Ten o'clock." Elizabeta dug through the dresser. "My red shirt isn't in here. I should go back to my place and get it, its Gilbert favorite."

"Elizabeta, can't that _wait_?"

"Of course not, I need to get my red shirt before class in," she glanced at the clock. "forty-five minutes. Can you give me a ride?"

Roderich mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" Elizabeta asked distractedly, still looking in case she'd missed the shirt. Had she brought it here…?

"Nothing. I'm going to take a shower."

"Okay. Can I take your car back to my place? I'll come back to pick you up, I'll shower there and stuff. Faster."

"Whatever." Roderich said, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist.

Elizabeta glanced down and laughed.

"Sorry, hon, I'm already late. You can take care of it yourself, can't you?"

* * *

Elizabeta tapped her fingers impatiently through history, glancing at the clock every few minutes. Was it moving _backward_?

She doodled on her map of Europe, outlining the word _Hungary_, moving on to _Austria_ and then _Germany_. She flipped the page, a list of countries in their native languages. How weird, that Hungary was actually Magyar. It sounded so funny in English, who decided to change the name? She looked down the list. _Deutschland_ was Germany, that was weird… Austria wasn't even pronounceable, some massive word with a funny accent over it. _Italia_ sounded nice at least. He finger hovered over another German word, _Preußen_. How did you pronounce that weird little B thing? She traced the line back to the English list. Prussia. Weird, it wasn't on the map…

Her phone vibrated. She clawed at her pocket but it had finished before she could even pull it out. A text. She opened it, keeping the phone under her desk as the professor walked by.

_Gilbert says no visitors._

Furiously, she keyed in her response.

_Why?_

_He says no._

_Can I talk to him?_

_No._

_Why?_

Feliciano stopped replying. Elizabeta resumed her impatient tapping. Why couldn't she see Gilbert? Didn't he know she didn't care if he looked like crap? He couldn't be that worried about _her _seeing him.

* * *

"Gilbert…" Ludwig put his hand in roughly the area he assumed Gilbert's shoulder was hidden under his blankets.

"Go away!"

"Gilbert, you don't look that bad."

"Yes I do! Go away!"

"You're going to hurt yourself."

"Good! I hope I die down here!"

"You aren't that superficial, are you?"

"Yes!"

"Gilbert, stop hiding." Ludwig sighed, sitting down. "I'm the only one here."

Gilbert was quiet.

"I'm related to you, I'm not allowed to judge you on looks."

Gilbert, finally, removed his head from under the pillow. He sat, dragging his broken arm awkwardly. He felt the bloodied side of his face tenderly.

Most of the skin on the right side of his face was open and raw. The doctors said it might be a few days to a few weeks before it started growing back. He really did look horrible.

"The doctors said there's a good chance it'll heal completely." Ludwig reminded him.

"Yeah, but when? A year from now?"

"Calm down. You'll be fine."

"You can't let anyone see me!" he begged suddenly. "Don't let anyone in!"

"Alright." Ludwig said calmly. "No one comes in. Feliciano already told everyone you don't want to see them."

"But that means they know my face is fucked up." Gilbert said, running his fingers though his hair.

"Gilbert, they don't care." Ludwig pointed out. "They're just worried about you."

"Well I'm worried about me!" Gilbert said angrily. "This is completely not cool. I can't be seen. By anyone."

"Elizabeta's been practically breaking down the door, she's not going to be happy about that."

"Especially not Elizabeta!" Gilbert said, panicking, covering his face with his hand as if he expected her to burst in at any second. "Make sure she stays far away!"

"I'll let her know. Can Feliciano come back in?"

Gilbert was quiet for a minute. "He'll tell everyone what I look like."

"They already have an idea."

"…okay."

* * *

Elizabeta paced the floor of her apartment, picking at her red shirt. Gilbert's favorite shirt. She still hadn't seen him since she'd yelled at him and she felt horrible. There had to be some way to get to him. Alfred had seen him, but then he'd also been hurt. Maybe she could break something, something small, like a finger…

There was a knock at the door. Distractedly, she opened it.

"Roderich!" she said happily, throwing her arms around him. "Sorry I've been so out of it."

"It's not a problem." he said, stepping inside so they weren't making a scene in the hall.

"And I left you all by yourself this morning…" she said as the door shut. "That was rude of me."

"Did you have some way to make up for it?"

"I've been meaning to show you what I bought the other day." she purred into his neck. "But you'll have to help me into it…"

"Why would I help you into anything?" Roderich murmured, kissing her. And that was the end of that.

* * *

Elizabeta sat down, dropping her books. Next to her, Arthur didn't look up from the screen in his hands.

"What're you watching?" Elizabeta asked, leaning over his shoulder to watch the handheld television.

"Football." Arthur mumbled, frowning. "Soccer, to you."

"Is England playing?"

"Yes."

"Are they winning?"

Arthur frowned at the screen. "No."

"So Arthur," Elizabeta said slowly. "I was talking to Alfred,"

Alarmed, Arthur looked up.

"What about?"

"Oh, you know, you two."

Arthur stared at her for a moment and then looked down again.

"So I heard _his_ side, but I don't think he told me everything."

"Probably not. Because he's an idiot."

"Well I want to hear your side. He didn't make you look very good." Elizabeta prodded.

"Okay, fine, you want to know what happened?" Arthur said, not looking up from the soccer game. "Alfred is an idiot and doesn't like taking his medicine."

"Alfred takes medicine?" Elizabeta said curiously.

"What, he didn't mention that?" Arthur said dryly. "He's supposed to take it once a day. He doesn't really like taking it."

"What's he got?"

"That's for him to tell you." Arthur said, tilting the screen angrily. "No, no, he's gonna-DAMN IT." He sighed. "But he's supposed to take them and he doesn't like to. So when we were in the same apartment I forced him to take it. He didn't like that."

"Wait, he thought you were over-bearing because you told him to take his meds?" Elizabeta asked.

Arthur laughed. "Yeah. That sounds about right. So one day he's being a brat and he hasn't taken the pills in about two weeks so I put some in his food."

"You snuck pills into Alfred's food?"

"Well there's a _reason_ he takes the medication." Arthur reminded her. "But he found them."

"Of course he did, Alfred takes his food seriously."

"It was a bad idea on my part, I know." Arthur muttered, still glaring at the screen. "But he told me it was a major invasion of privacy and, well, I'm sure he told you what he did."

"He destroyed all the tea."

"He made a big scene about destroying all the tea and then punched me in the face when I told him to stop being an ass."

"Sounds like Alfred."

"Sadly, it does." Arthur sighed. "He's always been like that though."

"You knew him when you guys were kids?"

"Old family friends, you know?" Arthur shrugged. "He made the first move, I just responded. Everything else is just honest concern for his well-being."

"Everyone thinks you're overbearing."

"You clearly have no idea how deep Alfred can get himself into a mess." Arthur frowned at the screen. "I spent most of my summers getting him _out_ of shit. That's not the first time he's broken that arm."

"He broke it before?"

"He's broken it three times before this. I'm amazed it hasn't just shattered by now."

"How'd he do that?"

"He got hit by a car running in the middle of the street because he refuses to understand how English roads work. He rode a skateboard down a hill into a wall. And he climbed the old stone houses down the street from me yelling something like 'I CAN SEE HOGWARTS FROM HERE'."

"Wow. That sounds like Alfred."

"That's because Alfred is an idiot." Arthur scoffed. "He's broken his leg, too, when he rode his skateboard down a hill. His fingers have been broken more times than I even remember. At least once a summer."

Elizabeta let her chin drop to her crossed arms.

"You know, Arthur, sometimes I think what a shame it is you're gay."

Arthur chuckled. "What, you don't have enough problems in that department?"

"At least you make sense."

"It's not men that don't make sense." he pointed out.

"Shut up."

* * *

"There's no reason for concern, of course. You're healing better than we could have hoped. You're a very healthy young man."

Gilbert looked as if he wanted to argue but he said nothing, staring at the sheets.

"You've already begun the therapy process and you're doing very well. So long as you continue coming on a regular basis, you should continue to see improvement. In another two weeks we can switch out your cast for something a little more manageable, and, depending on your mental progress you may be able to continue school this semester."

Gilbert continued to glare at the wall.

"What about my face? When will that heal?"

"We've done all we can for now. It shouldn't be longer than another week before you start to see improvement."

Gilbert nodded once and dropped out of the conversation again. Ludwig sighed.

"You're absolutely sure he can come home?"

"As long as he has someone to watch him twenty-four hours a day he should be alright." The doctor said, looking through his charts. "Obviously, just small things he needs help with."

_Small. Right_. Ludwig thought, taking everything into consideration. Gilbert still hadn't shown any improvement on walking, and very little on simple tasks like feeding himself or opening a jar. If he did come home now he would need help with everything, and that would only drive him insane.

But Ludwig just nodded. "Of course."

"We'll get the papers to you and you can be out of here by tomorrow."

"Excellent." Ludwig said, without feeling.

The doctor scribbled something else on his charts and was gone.

"Gilbert, this is what you wanted. To get out of here."

"I changed my mind. I want to stay."

"We can't afford it." Ludwig reminded him. "As much as I hate taking you out of here, we can't keep up with the cost of this place. The sooner we leave the better."

Gilbert nodded again, a sharp, disconnected motion. He was frustrated, with the limitations of his bruised limbs, with the way his brain struggled to connect to them, with his lack of progress. Gilbert didn't like being useless. He flexed his hand, his good hand, looking at the fingers curl and release easily. That much he could do.

"You'll get better." Ludwig pointed out.

"Yeah." Gilbert stared at the wall a moment longer and then turned towards him, grinning like he usually was. "I'm already healing way faster than they thought I would. I'm just that amazing."

Ludwig smiled back at him, but he didn't miss the hollow way Gilbert's eyes echoed his smile. Gilbert was fantastic at hiding his emotions. Just not from Ludwig.


	10. I Don't Fight Girls, They Aim Low

"Well _hello_ Mr. Edelstein. How _are_ you?"

"Shut up." Roderich growled around his glass. Alfred laughed.

"Man, you should have _said_ something. Your dad looks nothing like you."

"I've been told."

Alfred smiled and wiped down the counter. Elizabeta stumbled into it and clutched it for balance.

"Hey, Freddo, did'ya hear the good news? Gilbert's getting out of the hospital tomorrow." she slurred happily.

"You've mentioned." Alfred reminded her. "Almost eight times now."

"Almost?"

"You caught yourself about two hours ago." Alfred nodded.

"Oh. Well did you hear Gilbert's getting out of the hospital?"

Alfred took her glass away. She made a noise of protest and reached for it.

"Alfred!"

"I think you've had enough. Would you like some coffee?"

"Nuh uh." Elizabeta said, shaking her head so her hair flipped into her face. She straightened up and clung to Roderich's arm instead.

"Man, if you're her ride, that's your last for the night." Alfred told him.

Roderich sighed and downed the dregs of his drink.

"You're the boss, Alfred."

"Technically-"

"Don't start."

"Alfred!" Matt called from the kitchen. "Hey, idiot!"

"I can't hear you!" Alfred said loudly.

Matt appeared in the door. "Come on, it's your turn to run the dishwasher."

"But…" Alfred held out his broken arm. "I can't get wet."

"It's a dishwasher, Alfred. Go load it."

Muttering under his breath, Alfred threw his towel on the counter and stomped into the kitchen.

"…shouldn't even be working tonight…stupid…"

"Love you too!" Matt called after him as he disappeared into the kitchen. Alfred stuck his middle finger up after him. Matt just laughed.

* * *

The celebration was dying down. What had seemed like the most amazing thing to ever happen hours ago now bordered on mundane. Alfred yawned tiredly, thinking about the weekend and how he would spend it. At Gilbert's place, probably.

The bar was quiet. There were only a few people clustered at the edges. Last call. Last chance to drag some unfortunate girl home. He chuckled at the few pathetic attempts.

Elizabeta appeared out of nowhere.

"Alfred, I forgot, I drove here, I need my keys." she said, holding her hand out expectantly.

Alfred looked at her open hand.

"No."

She faltered. "What?"

"I'm not giving you your keys. You're not driving."

"That's bullshit!" she said angrily. "I'm fine! You stopped serving me hours ago, I've sobered up!"

"You're not driving." Alfred repeated. "I'm not giving you your keys. I'll give them to you tomorrow."

"My car'll be here all night! And I'll have to find you tomorrow! Give me my fucking keys, Alfred!"

Alfred shook his head. "I'm not letting you drive tonight."

"Don't be a fucking idiot, I want my keys." Elizabeta was now drawing attention from the corners of the room. "You can't fucking do this."

"I can." Alfred reminded her, pointing to a sign over his head. "_Bartender has the right to take any patron's car keys for the night_."

"Take, not _keep_. You give me those keys." Elizabeta warned.

"No."

Elizabeta reached around the counter for the jar Alfred kept the keys in. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her. "No, Elizabeta, go get a ride with Roderich."

"Roderich left!" she spat at him.

"Call a taxi."

"Are you gonna pay for it?" Elizabeta snapped furiously. She struggled to reach farther for her keys.

"Go home." Alfred told her.

"Fuck you!" she said angrily. Alfred wasn't even expecting it, not from Elizabeta, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. His only mobile hand was still locked around her wrist. Her fist connected with his nose and it immediately started bleeding. Alfred cursed and pressed his sleeve to it.

Elizabeta turned sharply and left. Without her keys.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Alfred demanded to the silent bar. "Last call, get out of here!"

They filtered out onto the street. Matt locked the door behind them and returned to Alfred, pulling his hand away.

"D'you fink I should'a gibben her the keys?" Alfred asked.

"No." Matt said quietly, taking in his nose. "I think she broke this though."

"Fantasbic." Alfred said. "Shoulb we-EEEAAAHHHRR."

Matt pulled his nose straight.

"Oh my God. Oh my God Matt you broke it more." Alfred said, gasping and clawing at his nose.

"You're fine." Matt said. "It's not the first time I've fixed it."

That was true. "I think I should have given in. It is kind of stupid to keep her keys, I'll have to go find her tomorrow and she'll have to get a ride…"

"No, Alfred, it wasn't." Matt said, leaning against the counter. "You were right to take her keys and right to keep them. We're not exactly innocent, the way we hand out alcohol to minors. The least we can do is make sure they aren't drunk on the road."

His words carried a hidden weight of meaning. Alfred sighed at and looked at the floor.

"You mean Gilbert."

"Gilbert was a warning. Next time it could be fatal." Matt told him.

"It was my fault anyway." Alfred said, kicking the floor. "I should have stopped him. He was drunk and angry…it was obvious he was going to crash."

"It wasn't anyone's fault. Gilbert crashed. But it is our responsibility to keep it from happening again. Elizabeta could have crashed tonight. She might have died, because you didn't want to start a fight."

"But I did keep her keys." Alfred said, perking up a little, wiping away the blood still pooling on his upper lip.

"Exactly." Matt pointed out. "Come on, it's late. Wanna pick up McDonald's on the way home?"

"Hell yes!"

* * *

"Dude, your face."

Matt kicked him and he grunted in pain, clutching his injured shin.

"Okay, okay! I'm an ass! No kicking!" Alfred said, rubbing the growing bruise. Matt sighed.

"Nah, it's cool." Gilbert shrugged, lounging on the couch of his and Ludwig's apartment. He scratched at the raw skin self-consciously.

"I didn't mean you look bad or stuff." Alfred said, flopping into a chair, forgetting himself for a moment and letting his broken arm slam into a table. "Fuuu-"

Gilbert laughed. "Oh god, Alfred, you're so clumsy."

"I am not!" Alfred said defensively. "I am completely coordinated. I just…I forget it's there."

"I know what you mean." Gilbert nodded seriously. "I'm so glad they finally took the cast off my arm. I've got this brace for a while. I keep rolling onto it in my sleep. Hurts like a _bitch_."

"I know! My chest is all scratched up from sleeping on it!" Alfred complained, rubbed absently at the hidden rash. "Stupid cast.."

Ludwig passed through the room, digging through his backpack. "Have you seen my keys, Gilbert?"

"Uh…did you check the drawer?"

"What drawer?"

"The..one..that has your keys in it." Gilbert said slowly. "In the kitchen."

Ludwig sighed and disappeared through another door.

"Where's he going?" Matt asked.

"Job. He picked another one up sometime when I wasn't paying attention apparently." Gilbert shrugged. "There's apparently no point in talking him out of it."

"Well your medicals bills must be ridiculous." Matt pointed out. Alfred nodded.

"My arm alone was like two thousand, and I'm still under Dad's insurance." Alfred said.

Matt shot him a glance he didn't understand and Gilbert shrugged again, looking at his broken arm.

"Yeah, we didn't have insurance. Not sick much, you know?"

"So how much is it costing you?" Alfred asked. Matt kicked him again. "What?" he asked, annoyed.

"Uh…" Gilbert looked up again, chewing his tongue, thinking.

"Upwards of a hundred thousand." Ludwig said, coming into the room again, keys in hand. "That would be the _top_ drawer, Gilbert."

Alfred coughed. "Dollars?"

"Oh yeah, huh? Well there was the ICU, and the two surgeries, and the two weeks after that…." Gilbert said, ticking them off on his fingers. "It adds up faster than you'd think."

"I didn't know you could get bills that high." Alfred said, in shock. "Don't they have, like, a limit?"

"Oh and the head scan." Gilbert added. "That was fucking expensive."

"I'm leaving." Ludwig announced. "Can you guys stay around until I get back?"

"I can, Matt's working tonight." Alfred told him. "Mr. Edelstein told me to take the night off, since I've been scratching the counters. He said 'he didn't know I could get more destructive'."

"Oh, I almost forgot, did I leave my wallet at the bar?" Gilbert asked.

"Uh…no." Alfred shrugged. "I don't think so. I haven't seen it. You left your jacket, but I gave that back to Ludwig."

Gilbert cursed. "I must've dropped it when I crashed or something… Damn it."

"You lost it?"

"Yeah, I could've sworn it was in my jeans pocket when I left but…well stuff's really fuzzy from that night anyway." He rubbed his head.

Ludwig pulled open the door. "He has to take the pills on the counter at six and nine. I labeled them. I'll be back at eleven thirty."

Alfred nodded. "Whatever, six and nine, I'll remember."

"I'll remind him." Matt assured Ludwig. He nodded and left.

"Have you seen the stupid thing they gave me for 'therapy'?" Gilbert asked once the door had shut.

"What is it?" Alfred asked eagerly.

"This game thing, look…"

* * *

At six Matt got up leave for his shift, but first he shoved the pills Ludwig had left into Gilbert's hand.

"Take them. I'm not getting in trouble with your brother."

Gilbert grumbled and swallowed the pills dry, ignoring the glass of water on the table. He showed his open mouth to Matt.

"All gone. Do I get a lollipop now?"

"Shut up and play your therapy game." Matt snapped.

"Fine, maybe I will!" Gilbert said, prodding at it.

The door shut and instantly Gilbert tossed the game over his shoulder.

"Okay, so that thing is stupid."

Alfred laughed. "Hey, we're just two cripples hanging out Friday night. There's no telling what sorts of trouble we could get into."

"Maybe we should hire nurse strippers." Gilbert said, barely holding back a laugh.

"I dunno man, medical bills run a little high for me." Alfred snickered back.

They burst into the kind of laughter that only happens when a good friend makes a terrible, terrible joke.

"I'm kinda surprised Elizabeta isn't here, where is she?" Alfred sighed once he'd caught his breath. "I mean, she's been, you know, insane since the accident."

"Who knows, probably clinging to 'iddle Roddy-kins. I assume she's still clinging to him."

"Yup." Alfred nodded, thinking of the bar last night. "Like a fly to a bug zapper."

Gilbert just scoffed.

"Well she's got some sort of pent up anger." Alfred added, rubbing his nose. It was healing fine, but that didn't stop it from hurting like hell.

"What?"

"She decked me in the bar." Alfred muttered. "Broke my fucking nose."

A _girl_. Had broken his _nose_. This was not something Alfred was keen on sharing. In fact, had it not been Gilbert, he might have created some magnificent story that involved several other burly men and a sexual favor on Elizabeta's part. But Gilbert knew Elizabeta was…a bitch sometimes.

Instead of laughing, like Alfred had expected, Gilbert scoffed and shook his head.

"What'd she do that for?"

"She wanted her keys back." Alfred said, dropping his hand onto the arm of the chair again.

"You took her keys?"

"I take everyone's keys now." Alfred nodded absently. "She knows that, she was just adaman-"

"You take _everyone's_ keys?" Gilbert repeated.

"Yeah." Alfred said, slightly confused at Gilbert's tone.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with me 'crashing' my bike, would it?"

"Uh… well yeah, I don't want anyone, you know, dying on my conscious-"

"Except I didn't crash." Gilbert cut in angrily.

"Wait…what?" Alfred asked, lost.

"I didn't crash!" he repeated, adamantly. "I got hit!"

"But…Ludwig said…you crashed." Alfred said.

"Yeah, 'cause he doesn't believe me!" Gilbert said, voice rising. "You believe me, don't you?"

"That you got hit by a car instead of lost control of your bike?" Alfred thought it through. Gilbert knew how to drive his bike, drunk or not.

"I know I did. I'm damaged, I'm not crazy. You know, I bet it was Roderich. It fits, Roderich left the bar a few minutes after me, and I took the back roads. The dorms are on the same way to here, right down the street even. He could have pulled into the parking lot and no one would have seen anything."

"You think Roderich hit you?"

"It fits doesn't it?" This time Alfred caught the note of desperation. Gilbert wanted _someone_ to believe him.

Alfred nodded slowly. "I believe someone hit you."

Gilbert smiled in relief and then immediately it was gone. "You believe _someone_ hit me. But not Roderich."

"Well, the dorms _are_ past that way, I mean, there were a bunch of students there, there had to be some that live in the dorms. Anyone could have hit you, they might not have even noticed. Everyone was drunk-"

"Who?" Gilbert exploded. "Who else lives in the dorms?"

"Uh…" Alfred paused. "Well Francis and Antonio for one-"

"You're telling me Francis or Antonio hit me. And then just kept driving."

"I'm saying a lot of people live in the dorms!" Alfred said angrily. "Why would Roderich want to hit you and leave you, obviously he's won, there's no reason for him to-"

"You know what Alfred? It's time for me to take my fucking pills. Pills I have to take because _someone_ slammed me into a fucking _tree_." Gilbert snapped, pushing himself up onto his feet shakily. Alfred hadn't seen Gilbert walk yet and now he realized why.

Gilbert immediately fell into the wall and used that vantage point to shuffle towards the kitchen, cursing every few seconds.

"Gilbert just sit down, I'll get them." Alfred said, any frustration fading.

"No! Fuck you, I can get them myself!"

"Or you could kill yourself." Alfred pointed out, standing up to catch him before he could slip and fall and probably succeed in hurting himself more.

Gilbert cursed violently and shoved him away, but there was either Alfred or the wall and Alfred had more handholds.

Gilbert broke down. It took Alfred a minute to realize he was crying, just because he'd never seen Gilbert cry before. And he had no idea what to do about it. There was another _man_ crying on his chest. Did men usually do that? Well girls did, but that was usually his fault. Was this his fault?

Had Arthur ever cried on him? No. No he'd remember _that_. But his girlfriends usually did. Was this the same? How did he solve that…

By kissing them. Right. That wasn't happening. Sure, he swung that way, but Gilbert didn't, and he was pretty sure that would only make more problems. Although Gilbert did look adorable when he cried…

Okay, no, focus. Alfred tentatively pulled him towards the kitchen and he followed, if only to stop himself from falling. Even with Alfred's help he stumbled constantly, and it occurred to him that Gilbert's feet weren't injured. He just couldn't remember how to walk.

Finally, with relief, they reached the kitchen. Alfred set him on the counter, lifting him under his arms like he would a little kid. Gilbert seemed to be attempting to stem the flow of snot and tears. Alfred handed him the cup of pills.

This made things worse.

Frustrated, and unsure how to deal with this situation, Alfred did the only thing that occurred to him at the time.

He grabbed Gilbert's face and shoved their lips together, tongue and all. Gilbert stopped crying.

Alfred immediately pulled away and coughed, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. Gilbert rubbed his tongue violently.

"Never do that again!" he shouted. "Ever!"

"Well it solved the problem, didn't it?" Alfred yelled back.

Gilbert faltered. "Sorry."

"No prob, dude." Alfred held out the cup of pills tentatively.

"I…" Gilbert hesitated, hand extended slightly. "Can you…can you pour them out?"

"Oh, right." Alfred said, dumping the pills into Gilbert's hand. "Damn, what are they _giving_ you?"

"Poison, for all I know." Gilbert made a face at the pile in his hand and shoved them in his mouth, swallowing repeatedly.

"Water?" Alfred offered.

"I…"

"I'll hold it."

"Fine." Gilbert mumbled.

Alfred filled the glass and held it to Gilbert's mouth.

"So, wanna tell me what that was?"

"You're lucky you're such a good friend, or I'd have to kill you." Gilbert told him.

"I'm happy to have that privilege." Alfred said, setting the glass down. "So…"

"I dunno, I just sort of realized how pathetic I was." Gilbert sighed. "That I can't even walk across a fucking room."

"Well yeah, but you cr…you were in an accident." Alfred reminded him.

Gilbert scoffed. "I don't like relying on other people. I find they just disappoint."

"Well the rest of us aren't really as useless as the foster system seems to be." Alfred told him, opening their fridge absently. It was what he did in an awkward situation. He looked up again when Gilbert said nothing to see that his face had turned bright red.

"Or something!" Alfred said quickly. "Not that I know anything about it! Uhm…TV! Or something!"

Did he always do this? Just dig himself into a giant hole? "Wanna order a pizza?"

Gilbert still didn't say anything. Alfred laughed nervously. "I think I'll order a pizza. On me, yeah. Don't you feel like a pizza? I'm hungry. Maybe Chinese. I think that other place down the street delivers. Or maybe it's take-out. Although there's always a bunch of home…less…I'm gonna go order a pizza in the living room."

Alfred escaped the suddenly tiny room and picked up the phone, jabbing in the number he knew by heart. What was the address here again? Checked outside the front door and gave it to the annoyed teenager on the other line.

That done, Alfred chewed his lip and stared at the kitchen. He was such an _idiot_. Just blurting things out. No wonder Matt was always kicking him. Nervously, he peered around the edge of the door.

"So…"

"How'd you find out?"

"Feli."

"Of course." Gilbert said, slipping off the counter. "Well I guess it's not that big of a deal…"

His face clearly said otherwise.

"D'you…want help getting back to the couch?"

"Do I have a choice?" Gilbert asked, holding out his uninjured arm. Alfred ducked under it and they shuffled back to the living room.

"So what did Feliciano tell you?" Gilbert asked the ceiling once he'd sat down.

"Uh… a lot of stuff? He said your…parents died when you were twelve?" Alfred offered, sitting down himself.

"Yeah."

"And Ludwig wound up in an abusive foster home?"

"Yeah."

"And you ran away from the orphanage and lived on the streets for a year?"

"Eleven months."

"And the police got called and you went back to the orphanage and stayed there until you were seventeen?"

"Eighteen, actually." Gilbert corrected, still talking to the ceiling. "Then we moved out. Ludwig's officially my dependent until he's twenty-five or we no longer live under the same roof."

"What, so you, like, adopted him?"

"Pretty much."

"How come it bugs you so much for people to know?"

"Because it makes them act different." Gilbert said, looking at him at last. "And they always want to _pity_ you. Trust me, I gave it a try in middle school, no one looks at you the same way when they know you're an orphan."

"But, you're an adult now." Alfred pointed out. "It's not so important. A lot of people here don't have parents. Most of us don't see them more than once a year, if that."

"I'm glad you think so." Gilbert scowled. "It's not something I want to put up with."

"Does it bother you ever?" Alfred asked. "That you have no parents?"

"I _have_ parents. They're just dead." Gilbert said. "And yeah, sure, occasionally it bugs me. It sure made growing up a bitch."

"Sounds like it." Alfred sighed. "Your life sounds like a soap."

Gilbert laughed hollowly. "I've noticed that too. I figured at college it might settle down a little. No such luck."

"So what happened with your grandparents? Why didn't they do anything?" Alfred asked.

Gilbert shrugged. "Who knows. My granddad could probably care less about me and Ludwig."

"Didn't the state contact him? I mean, I thought they did that, called up the nearest relative." Alfred asked.

"Yeah, they do, if they're in the country. It's harder to find out about relatives overseas. And maybe they just never tried very hard."

"You don't like the foster system?"

"The foster system is built on crap." Gilbert spat.

"Did you ever end up in a foster home?"

"Me?" Gilbert asked. "Once."

"Feli said-"

"Feliciano heard the story from Ludwig, who was in a foster home himself at the time." Gilbert cut in. "They didn't like me. So they sent me back like a broken toy. It lasted two months."

"That's….suck." Alfred said, realizing too late that his broken sentence didn't match up.

Gilbert laughed. "Yeah, well, guess I just don't make a likeable kid."

"That's such a lie. They must've just been jerks." Alfred said in his friend's defense.

There was a knock at the door.

"What, you actually ordered pizza?" Gilbert smirked.

"I don't joke about pizza." Alfred said seriously, standing up and digging through his pockets for his wallet. "Let's see, he said seventeen fifty…plus tip…"

He swung open the door, counting the bills in his hand. "Fifteen, sixteen… just a second, I know I've got change here somewhere."

"I can wait."

Alfred faltered and looked up. "Oh, hi Feli. I forgot you worked there, huh?"

Feliciano nodded brightly, holding out the box, his curly hair spouting out from under his hat. "Seventeen fifty."

"Yeah, yeah, plus tip." Alfred said distractedly, going back to his wallet. "I've done this before."

"You!" Gilbert shouted. Alfred turned to see him balance himself unevenly on the back of the couch, good arm wavering slightly. He pointed at Feliciano accusingly with his bound arm, which might have made for a rather amusing sight had his face not been bright red with exertion and anger.

Feliciano let out of a small squeak that sounded vaguely like "…didn't do it!"

Alfred shoved a twenty in Feliciano's hand and took the box. "Keep the change." he said brightly. Feliciano nodded quickly and vanished. Alfred closed the door.

"Man, don't scare away the food." Alfred said, locking the door and flipping back the top of the box.

"You let him get away!"

"Wait until you can walk to start hunting people down, alright?" Alfred advised, offering him the open box. Gilbert fumed and slid back into his seat, snatching a slice from the box.

"Fuck you. He shouldn't have told you. That idiot needs someone to teach him how to shut his mouth."

"Hey, Ludwig was the one who told _Feliciano_." Alfred pointed out, mouth full of delicious molten cheese. "Only the most talkative person ever born. Yell at him."

Gilbert just shoved the piece he'd taken in his mouth and glared furiously at the rest of the pizza as if it had caused him some horrible personal wrong.

"Also I might have bribed him with free alcohol."

Gilbert choked on his pizza.

* * *

"So how was Gilbert?" Matt yawned, clutching his mug like a lifeline.

"Ah, you know, miserable." Alfred mumbled, reaching into the cupboard for a box of stale cereal . "D'you think it's worth going out to get milk?"

"If you go out you'll just end up at McDonalds anyway." Matt pointed out. "What do you mean miserable?"

"You're right, I'll just do that." Alfred said, crossing the room for a shirt. "He found out we know he's an orphan."

Matt coughed. "How'd he do that?"

"Well he was crying!" Alfred said defensively. "I panicked, I was just trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make things worse!"

"You're such a bumbling idiot." Matt groaned. "I can't trust you to handle _anything_ by yourself, can I?"

"Hey, I'm not bumbling!" Alfred said. "Or an idiot!" he added after a moment. He pulled on a clean shirt.

"Are you going to put pants on?" Matt asked, pointing out his boxers.

"I'm going to the drive through, what's the point?"

"Alfred put on pants." Matt groaned, massaging his forehead. "How do you do anything without me?"

"I get things done!" Alfred said angrily. "Just… not… as efficiently."

"Go get your food."

"Want something?" Alfred asked, pulling a pair of jeans on.

"I'll eat dry cereal."

Alfred shrugged and then faltered. "Oh, crap, I forgot we don't have a car!"

Matt laughed.

* * *

Alfred muttered to himself, his one hand shoved as deep into his pocket as it would fit. Why was it so _cold_? It was barely October, no way it should be this freezing outside.

Someone caught up with him and fell into step beside him.

"Hey Arthur." Alfred yawned

"What're you doing out so early?"

"Food." Alfred said simply.

"Your car is ruined?"

"Yup."

"Are you going to get a new one?"

"If we get enough money."

"How much do you have?"

"Like fifty bucks right now. Payday's in a week. You still don't have a car?"

"I don't have an American license." Arthur corrected.

"You ever gonna get one?"

"If I need to. Where are you going?"

"McDonalds." Alfred said, feeling it was obvious. He glanced at Arthur from the corner of his eyes. "Wanna come?"

Arthur made a face but shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

It was a relief to step into the heated interior of the fast food joint. Alfred sighed happily and inhaled. Sweet nostalgia.

He ordered for both of them, trying to remember what Arthur usually ate. The restaurant was quiet and the food was ready quickly. It was difficult to get customers so early in the morning in a college town.

Alfred sat down across from Arthur in the booth he'd chosen and shoved his food at him, tearing open his own eagerly.

Arthur laughed.

"What?" Alfred mumbled around a mouthful of eggs.

"Your enthusiasm." Arthur said, shaking his head. He took a drink from the cup Alfred had handed him and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Earl Gray."

"Your favorite." Alfred said, making a face.

"You remember."

"It stuck in my mind, somehow, when it turned the toilet water gray." Alfred said casually, taking a drink from his own coffee. Much better than tea.

Arthur said nothing, swirling the tea slowly.

"Are you taking your medicine?"

"Sometimes." Alfred said dryly.

"You need to take it."

"You need to stop telling me what to do." Alfred told him darkly. "It's not going to kill me."

"No," Arthur admitted. "but-"

"But nothing." Alfred said sharply. "I don't need to take any fucking pills that mess with my head."

"Well now I know you haven't been taking them."

"Don't blame my anger on a disease!" Alfred shouted.

"Alright, alright!" Arthur said. "Calm down, I'm sorry!"

Alfred settled back in his seat, gulping back his coffee.

"Okay, so, besides the medication you aren't taking, how've you been?" Arthur asked.

"Ah, getting in trouble, failing classes, things like that." Alfred said calmly, knowing it would bother Arthur.

Arthur sighed. "You're one of a kind."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Alfred whistled happily as he poured drinks one-handedly. He pushed the finished product toward a customer.

"Hey Al."

"Hey Elizabeta." Alfred said coldly.

"Uh…how's your nose?"

"Better." Alfred pulled the jar from its home under the counter and tossed Elizabeta her keys. "I guess you'll be wanting those."

Elizabeta caught them. "Thanks."

Alfred turned to go back into the kitchen.

"Hey, uh, Al?"

"Yeah? Alfred called over his shoulder.

"Thanks for…uh…taking them." Elizabeta muttered. "I…I wandered into the street last night and almost got hit. They kept me in the police station until I sobered up. I probably would've crashed if…if I drove home."

Alfred smiled. "No harm done then, right?"

"I guess." Elizabeta said, looking a little surprised. "Sorry about your nose."

"No worries." Alfred said, and pulled a bottle from underneath the counter. "Here, on the house."

"Oh, thanks Alfred." Elizabeta said, taking the bottle as if she expected it to explode. Alfred nodded and looked up at the sound of the door opening.

"Hey, look who made it!" he called over the crowd. "Who's watching the invalid?"

"Feliciano." Ludwig muttered, approaching the counter.

Alfred busied himself behind the bar. "How is he?"

"Bored out of his mind, I think." Ludwig said, taking the foaming mug Alfred offered him. "He's going to therapy tomorrow, I won't be in class."

"What, you've got to be there?" Alfred asked.

"I have to drive him there and back." Ludwig pointed out.

"Man, you can't let your grades slip."

"Gilbert has to go to therapy more." Ludwig sighed, draining the mug.

"Well I'll get your math work for you." Alfred said. "That's on the house, by the way." he added when Ludwig reached for his wallet.

"Alfred you can't give _everything_ away for free."

"Sure I can." Alfred said brightly. "It's on Mr. Edelstein!" he called loudly.

Elizabeta laughed. "Oh, Alfred, I was wondering, what disease do you have, exactly?"

Alfred frowned.

"Arthur told me." Elizabeta explained. "He didn't say what you had, though. Just that you take medication for it. Or don't."

"It's nothing." Alfred said dismissively. "Just a…disorder. It hardly ever bugs me, 's why I never take my meds."

"But what's it called?" Elizabeta demanded.

"There you go, tearing off scabs again. Can't you ever just leave well enough alone?" Alfred laughed.

"No." Elizabeta said stubbornly. "Just tell me what it is!"

"It's not important." Alfred said.

"What, you like keeping secrets now?" Ludwig asked dryly.

"Hey, blame Feliciano, not me." Alfred said angrily. "I just coaxed it out of him."

"What?" Elizabeta asked eagerly, finding a new scab to tear.

"Nothing." Ludwig said quickly.

"Fine, maybe I'll go find Feliciano and see if _he'll_ tell me." Elizabeta said, pouting.

"Go ahead, I already told him to keep his mouth shut." Ludwig said.

"Well I've known him longer than you have, he'll listen to me." Elizabeta said stubbornly.

"Good luck with that!" Ludwig called over his shoulder.

"She'd gonna find out." Alfred told him. "She always does."

"She'll find out what your 'disorder' is." Ludwig pointed out.

Alfred made a face. "Not if I can help it."

"If it never bothers you why do you care if people know about it?"

"The same reason as you." Alfred said. "I don't like the way people react."

"That's Gilbert. I just don't like people knowing I lived on the streets." Ludwig finished the glass. "It's disgusting out there, you know that? Absolutely disgusting."

"I'll keep that in mind." Alfred promised, grinning.


	11. Two Years Late for Juvie

"Matt! Matt, get up! Matt! Matt! Matt!"

"What?" Matt called from under his pillow, where he was trying in vain to block out Alfred's voice.

"Matt, that's not up!" Alfred tore his blankets off and he groaned loudly. "Come on, it's like, ten in the morning!"

"On a Saturday! Get off!" Matt protested, kicking at Alfred when he tried to pull him from his bed.

"Come on, Matt, this is awesome! Please, please?" Alfred jumped up on his bed and began bouncing on it. "Matt, get up, up up, up…"

"SHUT UP!" Matt roared. "I want to sleep, damn it!"

"UP UP UP UP!" Alfred bounced harder. Did he have his shoes on? He was getting his shoes all over Matt's sheets?

Alfred's foot landed on Matt's shin and he cursed violently.

"Oh, sorry!" Alfred landed on the bed, crossing his legs underneath him. "Are you awake now?"

Matt muttered a few more curses under his breath for good measure and sat up, rubbing his shin furiously. "What? What is so important?"

Alfred dangled something in his face. "We got a _car_."

Matt was speechless for a moment. He snatched the keys from Alfred's hand and stared at them as if he expected them to suddenly combust.

"What?" he demanded. "You bought a car?"

"Uh huh!"

"Where?" Matt asked, still in shock. "Why? How?"

"There's a dealer like ten miles out of town, did you know that? It's used but it's _sooo_ awesome." Alfred said. "You gotta come look at it-"

"Where did you get the money for a car?"

"Credit card." Alfred dismissed quickly. "It's red, Matt, isn't that awesome-"

"You bought a car _with a credit card_?" Matt gasped. "_Our_ credit card? The one we still owe money on for the hospital bills?"

"No, I stole one, Matt." Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yeah. They totally took it and everything. It's fine, we can pay it back-"

"How much did this cost?" Matt shook the keys at Alfred.

"Oh, it's fine, it was only like ten thou-"

"YOU SPENT TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS ON A CAR?" Matt exploded.

"But Matt, we need a car!" Alfred whined. "And this one is a _convertible_, isn't that awesome? It'll be like we're in Californ-"

"Alfred, I can't believe you!" Matt tried to get his temper under control. Yelling at Alfred was like yelling at a child. Nothing but noise got through.

"Matt, just come outside…" Alfred begged with wide eyes. "It's not even that old of a car, it's a good deal, really."

"Fine." Matt snapped, getting up. "I swear to God, Alfred, I just…you…."

Alfred wasn't listening. He let out a triumphant shout and darted outside. Matt grumbled and pulled a pair of jeans on over his boxers, wondering if anyone would notice if he murdered Alfred in his sleep. Probably, but then he could always say he'd just choked on his own ego…

"Okay, Alfred, where is this monstrosity?" Matt called, stepping outside, pulling a shirt on.

"Here!" Alfred called. Matt slid on his shirt and watched Alfred take a running jump into his new purchase. "See? Convertible! Amazing, right?"

Matt grumbled some more and approached the car, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Why did you have to buy a car _today?_"

"I was talking to Antonio, he was going out of town and passed the dealer and he was all 'Alfred they've got the sweetest convertible here' and I had to go see…"

_Mental note: kill Antonio._

Matt stared at the car.

"Alfred, we can't afford this."

"But…" Alfred was looking at him with teary eyes. "But…look at it! It's...beautiful! It's like Suzy 2.0!"

"You drove a broken down husk of a car for five years." Matt reminded him.

"So I deserve a nice car now!" Alfred insisted. "Please, Matt, please can we keep it? It's _our_ car. You get to drive it too… Haven't you always wanted to drive a convertible?"

"Alfred…"

"Pleaaase Matt?" Alfred begged.

Matt sighed. "Fine."

Alfred cheered and started the engine. "Get in! We are going to the drive-through and then we are going to show everyone how awesome we are in our fantastic new convertible car!"

* * *

Matt examined the knife in his hand, wondering just how hard it would be to plunge it into Alfred's stupid neck.

"Long night?"

Matt shrugged and finished drying the knife. "I am going bankrupt because by brother is an idiot and I am going to kill him."

Someone laughed. He looked up to see Ludwig standing at the counter.

"Guess I'm preaching to the choir."

"Just a little."

"How is Gilbert anyway?" Matt straightened up to fix Ludwig's drink.

"Angry at the world. He's asleep now. He knows I won't be home for another hour or two." Ludwig sighed.

"You escaped?" Matt chuckled.

"Pretty much." Ludwig nodded tiredly. "So what has your wonderful brother done to drive you to bankruptcy?"

"He bought a car." Matt set the mug down in front of Ludwig. "A fancy, convertible, _red_ car with a credit card that we haven't finished paying off yet."

"What's on it already?" Ludwig asked, taking a drink.

"Medical bills. For his arm, mostly. And a few classes and books." Matt shrugged. "I don't know what got into him, it was a stupid move, even for Alfred…"

"Where is Alfred?" Ludwig asked.

"'Working'" Matt said, adding air quotes for effect. "He's over there."

He pointed Alfred out on the other side of the bar. There were vague chants that sounded suspiciously like 'chug', but Matt ignored them. "He was drunk out of his mind last time I saw him."

Ludwig laughed again. "What's he celebrating?"

"God knows. His own stupidity, probably." Matt groaned.

"To brothers and bankruptcy." Ludwig held up his mug.

"I'll drink to that."

* * *

"Heey boys." Elizabeta said perkily. She leaned on their table.

"Hey Elizabeta!" Alfred grinned back. "'sup? Look, I got my cast off!"

"It's only been, like, two weeks."

"Three. I heal fast."

Elizabeta shrugged, as if she couldn't really be bothered to delve any deeper into that topic. "So you going back home for Thanksgiving next week?"

"Nope." Alfred said brightly. "You?"

"Nah. Too expensive. I'll see my dad over the summer." she shrugged. "So I was wondering if you guys wanted to do something next week. We can go into town or something or go Black Friday shopping-"

"Every shopping trip with you is Black Friday." Matt pointed out.

"Hush." Elizabeta scolded. "I'm just saying, I'm sure there's a bunch of people staying. We can all get together."

"We should go see a movie." Alfred said brightly.

"A movie?"

"Yeah, all the theaters downtown end up completely empty during Thanksgiving. No one's around. We'll probably get the theater to ourselves."

Elizabeta thought for a moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, that could work."

"I'm in, then." Alfred said happily. "Matt?"

"Why not?" Matt shrugged.

Elizabeta straightened up happily. "Good."


	12. Thanksgiving is Better Spent Alone

"Good, both of you are here." Elizabeta said happily.

"Brought beer, too." Alfred hefted the case he was holding.

"Do they let you bring beer into the theater?"

"They do if you hide it in your purse." Alfred said.

Elizabeta frowned. "Won't it be suspicious if you're carrying a purse?"

"A: The employees at the theater already know I'm gay. I won't get into why. B: I won't be carrying it." He held out an oversized cargo-bag. "You will."

"This isn't a purse, Alfred."

"It _looks_ like a purse."

"No it doesn't."

Alfred pouted. "Are you gonna help me sneak beer into the theater or not?"

After a moment Elizabeta snatched the bag. "Fine! But you're carrying it until we get there."

"Deal." Alfred said, hurriedly loading the bottles into the revoltingly floral bag. He glanced up again, checking that he'd brought enough.

Elizabeta and Roderich, not heavy drinkers. Feliciano and Lovino, not very heavy on beer. Francis and Antonio, both capable of draining several bottles. Arthur, definitely a heavy drinker. Plus…

"Where's Gilbert?" Alfred asked suddenly, looking around. "I thought you said he'd be here?"

"Down here." Gilbert muttered from somewhere around waist-height.

Alfred laughed. "Nice wheels."

Gilbert scowled and slid lower into his wheelchair.

"It's temporary."

"It's _awesome_. We should find a hill."

Gilbert's face lit up, but Ludwig interrupted their plans.

"We have enough medical bills."

"What's with the shades?" Alfred asked curiously, pointing out Gilbert's slightly oversized sunglasses.

"They're for protection from the sun." Gilbert said stiffly. "And gaping onlookers."

"What?"

"Nothing. They're so people don't stare at my face."

Alfred finished packing the bag and zipped it closed, frowning. "You…OHHH, right, you're all scarred up and stuff."

"It's not a scar!" Gilbert snapped. "It's still healing!"

"Okay, okay!" Alfred said, handing the bag to Elizabeta. She pushed it back at him.

"I told you you're carrying it."

"But it's _heavy_." Alfred complained, letting it rest on the ground.

"Exactly." Elizabeta said. "It's your beer, Alfred, you carry it."

"Technically it's his beer." Alfred pointed at Roderich. "I stole it from the bar."

Roderich sighed. "Dad knows you're doing that, by the way. He said to tell you to stop."

"I'll stop when I'm dead." Alfred said, hefting the strap of the bag up over his shoulder. "Besides, you're good for it, right, rich boy?"

Roderich didn't answer. Alfred cheerfully led the way down the street until they finally came to a cramped movie theater on the edge of the block.

"Okay, who's got money?" Alfred asked, approaching the ticket booth and digging through his pockets. "One sec, man. What's playing, like, now?"

A bored teenager pointed absently at the board behind him. Alfred squinted at it.

"Seven ninety-five per ticket." he mumbled around the hand propping his head up off the counter.

"Who's got seven ninety-five?" Alfred called over his shoulder. "Wait, I don't know if I have enough…"

"What about the twenty you keep in your sock?" Matt asked, putting his money on the counter.

"That's my emergency pizza money!" Alfred said. "You know that!"

"You keep emergency pizza money?" Elizabeta asked.

"He forgets he's broke when he orders food sometimes." Matt said dryly. "We've had many, many angry delivery boys at our apartment."

"Are you serious?" Gilbert asked. "You just…forget? That you don't have twenty bucks on you?"

"Which is why I keep money in my sock." Alfred said indignantly. There was nothing at all strange about keeping emergency food money in his shoe.

"You're buying your own snacks." Matt sighed, pulling out enough to cover Alfred's ticket. The others dumped their money on the counter haphazardly and the pimply teenager took his time counting it.

"What show?" he asked, clearly very bored.

"Whatever's playing next." Alfred said. The kid shrugged and pushed ten tickets through the grate in the glass.

"Movie starts in twenty minutes."

Inside, Alfred inhaled the sweet, sweet smell of popcorn and nachos and flat soda. There was one theater inside, and it was still being cleaned. The group made its way to the snack bar instead.

"Matt, can I-"

"Absolutely not." Matt snapped. "You pay for it yourself or you don't get anything."

"Matt…"

"No!"

Alfred sighed and pulled his shoe off.

"You actually keep money in your shoe." Gilbert said, dumbfounded.

"Yup." Alfred reached inside and pulled out a very crumpled, slightly damp twenty dollar bill. "Remind me to replace this, Matt."

The staff at the counter wrinkled their noses at the bill, but had no choice but to accept it.

The theater opened and there were fifteen minutes during which they found seats, went to the bathroom, rearranged seats, cursed violently, rearranged again, pried Roderich and Elizabeta apart long enough to convince them to sit at the end of the row, and pushed Gilbert's empty wheelchair down the stairs. Twice.

Ludwig folded it together and stuck it under his chair so it wouldn't happen again.

"I swear the second time was an accident!" Antonio insisted.

"The first time was just to make sure no one could push Gilbert down a flight of stairs!" Francis added.

Alfred settled unhappily in his seat.

"Alfred, you were happy a minute ago. What's the matter now?" Matt sighed.

"I don't like this seat."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's at the end of the row."

"So?"

"_So_ it's better at the center."

Someone poked him in the back of the head and he turned, chewing his tongue to keep from lashing out unnecessarily.

"Yeah, but think about it." Gilbert said, currently seated in the wheelchair section just behind Alfred and Matt's row. "If there's a fire _you'll_ get out first."

"Shut up."

"I swear I'll kiss you again."

"Come get it." Gilbert leaned back in his seat. Alfred thought for a moment and then bolted over the back of his chair. Gilbert was apparently not expecting this.

"Gah, rape, RAPE!" he cried, flailing against Alfred. Alfred laughed in a deep voice.

"Give me your innocence!"

"I left it with your mom!"

"Oh, are we raping Gilbert now?" Francis asked. "I call next."

"No way, Gilbert is _my_ love-monkey!" Alfred called. "Find your own!"

"Oh, yes, Alfred and I are secret lovers." Gilbert said dramatically. "I'm sorry Francis, I meant to tell you…"

Alfred dug in his pocket and found the wrapper to his straw. He quickly twisted it together and grabbed Gilbert's hand.

"Gilbert, I know we've only been together for eighteen seconds," Alfred said, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. "but I know now. Will you…" Dramatic pause. "Marry me?"

Gilbert was cracking up. "Oh, Alfred, I would, but I don't know, we're so young."

"That doesn't matter, because we're illogical."

"You're right!" Gilbert cried. "We _are_ illogical! Yes, Alfred, I will throw caution to the wind and marry you without knowing a thing about you!"

Alfred shoved the paper ring on his finger.

"Gilbert, how could you?" Francis shouted, playing along. "I thought we had something special!"

"You thought wrong!" Gilbert said, turning away from Francis. "I love Alfred now. You are nothing to me!"

"Damn you Alfred!" Francis said, better than either of them at keeping his laughter from interrupting him. "I know! I'll nearly kill myself, you'll notice me then!"

Francis very dramatically pretended to fall down the stairs. Alfred and Gilbert weren't the only ones laughing now."

"Gilbert, forget him!" Alfred said.

"But I can't! I'm going to drive everyone insane and pretend it's because I don't have any feelings for him!" Gilbert sighed.

"Do you want to kiss unnecessarily in public?"

"Can we do it in front of Francis?"

"Please!"

They pretended to kiss. Their friends erupted into applause.

"A beautiful production!" Antonio cheered.

Alfred risked a glance in the corner. Elizabeta had her arms folded tightly, which was only amusing because of the effect it produced above her shirt. Roderich looked bored.

"Oh, ha ha." Elizabeta said sarcastically. "You're so _funny_."

"I thought we were." Alfred said, looking at Gilbert.

"I do too."

"You are my perfect match!"

Alfred had to slide back into his chair because he was laughing so hard.

* * *

Alfred watched the movie happily. Action _and_ romance. Everyone got what they wanted. Right now they were in the middle of a huge fighting scene that apparently involved at least three cannons that Alfred couldn't remember being there. Oh well. Cannons were awesome.

Someone jabbed him in the shoulder.

"What?"

"Trade seats with me."

"Why?"

"Because I made the mistake of sitting next to Francis in a dark room." Antonio whispered. "Just trade!"

"I don't want to sit next to Francis!"

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"I'll give you a dollar."

Alfred thought for a minute. "Make it five."

"Done."

There was an exchange of money and Alfred stood up.

Antonio's seat was at the end of the row, by the wall. Well, at least now he had something to lean against.

"Hello Alfred." Francis said in the dark.

"I did this for five dollars. Shut up and don't touch me."

"Alright, alright." Francis said sadly. Alfred turned his attention back to the movie.

A few minutes later, he felt something creep along his arm. He smacked Francis' arm away.

"Francis!" he whispered angrily.

"Sorry, I can't control it." Francis shrugged. Alfred shifted farther against the wall and took his arm off the armrest.

"Francis!" Alfred knocked Francis' hand off his shoulder.

"You're simply no fun."

"You're perverted."

"Yes." Francis said. "I'm going to go bother Antonio again. He still owes me five dollars from last week, anyway.

Francis climbed over the back of his seat. Alfred sighed happily and took back the armrest. He shoved another mouthful of popcorn in his mouth.

Someone dropped into the seat next to him. Alfred opened his mouth to tell Francis to get lost. He hesitated.

"Oh. Hi Artie."

"How did I end up right next to the 'happy couple'?" Arthur raged quietly.

Alfred chuckled. "Our little skit didn't restrain them at all?"

"I think it just made them worse."

"Well, you're better than Francis." Alfred said, taking another mouthful of popcorn. He offered the bucket to Arthur, who shook his head, wrinkling his nose.

"You've drowned it in butter."

"So?"

Arthur just rolled his eyes. He turned back to the movie.

"This is ridiculous."

"What do you mean?"

"This movie. It doesn't even make sense."

"Does it have to?" Alfred asked, confused.

Arthur scoffed. "Typical Americans. Forget about a plot or character development, we have _explosions_."

"What's character development?"

Arthur crossed his arms furiously. "Nothing." He stuck his hand in the bucket and took a handful of popcorn. Alfred grinned.

They watched the movie in silence, eating their way through Alfred's mountain of snacks.

"Are you going to start taking your meds again?"

"Maybe." Alfred said stiffly.

"Alfred…"

"Shut up. I'm watching the movie."

"I'm only telling you because I'm worried about you."

Alfred just glared at the screen. Something exploded and the theater was lit up with orange light. He glanced at Arthur and their eyes met. Alfred blushed and looked away.

They watched the movie. He found that he was distracted by simply having Arthur so close to him. Arthur shivered.

"It's freezing in here." he muttered.

"I know." Alfred agreed. He yawned and stretched his arms into the air. One of them happened to land across Arthur's shoulders.

Arthur froze and then, like nothing had ever happened, shifted closer to Alfred and set his head on his shoulder. Alfred smiled and rested his cheek on Arthur's head.

"You really went for the ol' 'yawn and stretch'?" he asked.

"You think I was really cold?"

Alfred grinned and watched the movie.


	13. A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

With one final explosion, the movie was over. Arthur scoffed.

"That was anti-climactic."

"What are you talking about?" Alfred demanded as the credits started. "That was _amazing._"

"Alfred, that made no sense."

"It didn't have to!" Alfred insisted. "It was just like…" Alfred imitated the sound of the explosion, throwing his hands out dramatically to help the effect.

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. He looked at the emptying theater.

"I guess we should leave."

Alfred sighed. "I guess we should…"

Arthur stood and Alfred looked sadly at his empty arm. Then he stood too, brushing off a mountain of crumbs onto the floor. Arthur shook his jacket out for him, sending several thousand more crumbs cascading to their feet.

"Where does this leave us?" Arthur asked.

"What?"

"This. _Us_." Arthur elaborated. "Are we together or not?"

"Well…uh…" Alfred chewed his lip.

Arthur raised his eyebrows, still looking down at Alfred's jacket.

"It's just….I…I still like you, I think…I don't know if I love you, but-"

"But you don't want to be in a relationship with me." Arthur said absently, pulling his jacket into place and zipping it for him.

"It's not that! I just…well, yeah, it kinda is. I mean, I just don't know, you know? It's not that I don't want to, I just don't know if I do…"

"Tell you what, Alfred. When you figure it out, let me know." Arthur said, looking up at him finally. "Just don't expect me to wait around for you."

Alfred opened his mouth to answer, but Arthur distracted him by kissing him at that exact moment. Alfred kissed him back, using his already-open mouth to his advantage.

Arthur pulled away and turned back down the aisle.

"I'll see you, Alfred."

Alfred stared after him, baffled.

* * *

"What's up with you?" Gilbert asked.

"Arthur." Alfred said simply.

"You two back together?"

"Good question."

"Alright, here." Elizabeta shoved something in Gilbert's hands.

"What is it?" Gilbert asked as she pushed something at Alfred too.

"A pretzel. I bought it down the street. Now stop looking so miserable, both of you."

"Am I allowed to look sad?" Alfred asked.

"What about depressed?"

"Upset?"

"Gloomy?"

"Dejected?"

"Disheartened?"

"Fine. Don't eat the pretzel." Elizabeta snapped.

Gilbert bit into his, grinning.

"We're standing outside at three in the morning so you can buy a purse for fifty percent off." Alfred pointed out.

"Eat the pretzel or I'll give you something to be miserable about!" Elizabeta threatened.

"Careful Fred, she'll break your nose again."

"Shut up, Love Monkey." Alfred said, taking a bite of pretzel.

"I ought to just for that little stunt you pulled earlier." Elizabeta scowled.

"What?" Gilbert asked innocently, swallowing his pretzel. Alfred snickered.

Elizabeta stuck her tongue out at him. Gilbert grinned at her again.

"So when does this place open?" Alfred asked, yawning.

"I don't know, a few hours." Elizabeta shrugged. She looked back towards the line she'd been standing in across the street, where Roderich was keeping her place.

Gilbert and Alfred groaned.

"I wanna go home!"

"I wanna go to sleep!"

"I wanna take my meds!"

"I do too!" Gilbert groaned.

"You didn't take your meds?" Alfred asked, looking down at him.

"I forgot to bring them." Gilbert mumbled.

"Dude, what if you like…die?"

"I'm not going to die."

"Okay, what could happen?"

Gilbert chewed his tongue, thinking. "Uh… Well I take pain killers, and pills for the metal in my arm, calcium to help my bones heal, something to keep me from bleeding internally-"

"So, bad things." Alfred said.

"Well I only missed it once…" Gilbert said. "I mean.. I'm not, like, going to just drop dead."

"But bad things could happen." Alfred insisted. "So you should go home and take them."

Gilbert finally caught on. "Oh. Yeah, I should."

"And I should take you."

Elizabeta crossed her arms.

"Why would _you_ take him?" she asked.

"Because I love him!" Alfred cried, turning Gilbert's chair around and pushing it towards the parking garage he'd left his car in.

"Hey, wait, you're just gonna leave-"

"Yup!" Alfred called over his shoulder. "Tell Matt he needs to find a ride!"

"Oh, and tell Ludwig!" Gilbert shouted around Alfred.

"Come on, Love Monkey." Alfred chuckled.

"If you start running again Ludwig will kill you." Gilbert said.

"Well Ludwig isn't here, now is he?"

"No but-WAIT!"

* * *

Alfred yawned, trying to focus on the road. He was so tired though…

"Don't fall asleep now." Gilbert warned.

"I'm fine!" Alfred scoffed. He sped up anyway, eager to get home. Or, to Gilbert's house. Or whatever. Someplace he could pass out. "The convertible's awesome though, right?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Gilbert said. "Hey, you understand if I'm a little nervous around high speeds and stuff, right…?"

"Right. Sorry." Alfred let up on the gas a little. "So, what if it was, like, a roller coaster or something?"

"I don't know. I haven't exactly thought about it much." Gilbert said. Alfred glanced at him and noticed he was clinging to the seatbelt.

"You're not actually scared, are you?"

"How fast are you going?"

"Like….seventy miles an hour."

"Can you at least go down to the speed limit?"

Alfred sighed and slowed down again. "Only because it's you."

"Because I have a totally rational fear of dying in a road wreck or because I'm your Love Monkey?"

"Both." Alfred laughed. "You realize that nickname is sticking?"

"I figured."

Alfred yawned again.

"Watch out-!"

The car jerked and Alfred cursed. He swerved over to the side of the road and Gilbert immediately jumped out of the car, ignoring the door. Alfred pushed his open and followed him, leaving the engine running.

"What are you-"

"You hit something!" Gilbert said urgently, walking with an uneven but impressively fast pace. Alfred ran after him, trying to see by the rear lights from the car.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!" Gilbert said angrily. He stopped suddenly.

"Did you-ew, what smells?"

"Skunk." Gilbert said, covering his own nose. "You hit it."

"Aw, nasty…you don't think my car'll smell, do you?"

"Why the fuck is that important?" Gilbert raged. "Do you think the skunk cares about your stupid car? Fucking watch where you're going next time, asshole!"

"It's just a skunk!" Alfred defended himself. "There's like a billion of them-"

"There's just a billion people, does that make it okay to go hitting them with your car?"

"Well I didn't hit a person-"

"That doesn't make it okay!" Gilbert shouted at him, jabbing him in the chest. Alfred looked down at him blankly.

"Uhh…"

"Oh you know what, just fuck it. Fuck you." Gilbert marched back the car. "Just drive me home, Alfred, I have pills to take."

Alfred stayed where he was for a moment, baffled, before the smell got to him. He ran back to his car, jumping over the door and landing in the driver's seat. Gilbert was staring angrily at nothing in the opposite direction.

"Uh…you're not actually mad, are you?"

Gilbert didn't answer. Alfred sighed and pulled back out onto the road.

"Are you not going to talk to me at all?"

Silence. Alfred frowned and pressed down on the accelerator. Gilbert squirmed slightly.

"Oh, look, we're at seventy…" Alfred said innocently.

Silence.

"Eighty…eight-five…"

Gilbert squirmed again, but said nothing.

"Ninety…"

"Okay stop!" Gilbert said finally, turning around again.

"Oh, you _can_ talk." Alfred said. He let up on the gas.

"You're a bastard, you know that?" Gilbert said furiously.

Alfred turned back to the road, making sure his speed was back down to sixty miles an hour. "So, you're really pissed at me for hitting a skunk?"

"I..you should fucking pay attention…I…no…" he said finally.

"Yeah. I thought not. Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"So…are you actually scared of the speed or the crashing part?"

"Are people afraid of heights or afraid of falling?"

"Good question." Alfred said thoughtfully. "You know I'm afraid of heights?"

"I thought you wanted to be a pilot?"

"I do! Well, I always did, my dad was…but I've been afraid of heights since I was little." Alfred shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the empty road.

"So you were just going to try and overcome your fears and join a profession that terrifies you?" Gilbert asked.

"Well…yeah." Alfred said. "I figured I could…you know…get over it."

"You don't have to be a pilot. You can be something else in the military."

"Yeah, I know." Alfred said. "And if you ever tell anyone this I will kill you."

"If you ever tell anyone I'm afraid of cars I'll kill you."

"Deal."

* * *

Gilbert fussed with the key.

"Do you want me to do it?"

"I got it!"

"Seriously, I'm cold."

"I've fucking got it! Dance, or something." Gilbert insisted, trying to get his fingers to cooperate. "Almost…aw fuck, come on you stupid key…I hate you. I hate you and your family and all the other little keys and key shaped things-"

"Oh, just move." Alfred pushed him away and turned the key, successfully opening the door. Gilbert sneered at him and pushed the door open, letting it bang against the wall. It hit Alfred in the nose and he cursed. Gilbert chuckled, flipping on lights as he went. Lights he could work.

"So how's your therapy going?" Alfred asked in a pinched voice, rubbing his nose and shutting the door.

"Eh. Good." Gilbert shrugged, pulling out his prescriptions. "They make me do stuff like walk on a treadmill for like an hour and then stuff with my hands. Like writing or scissors or shit like that."

"So how's your handwriting?" Alfred asked, wandering into the kitchen, still rubbing his nose.

"Look for yourself." Gilbert pointed to the refrigerator.

"Wha-oh. Aww, it's like a kindergartener's…" Alfred said.

"Shut up!" Gilbert dumped out the appropriate amount from each bottle, referring to Ludwig's chart. If Ludwig was any more organized he'd be a ruler…

"But it is! It's all big and loopy." Alfred said. "And it's up on the fridge."

"Doc said it would motivate me or something if I saw it every day. Ludwig figured the one place I would look every day was the fridge." Gilbert shrugged, pulling a cup from the cupboard and filling it with water. "Which is sorta like saying 'when you're not doing anything, remember that you suck'."

Alfred laughed. "Aw, come on, you've gotten way better. Remember when you started crying because you couldn't-"

"Don't ever mention that again." Gilbert said seriously, throwing the pills in his mouth and swallowing them with the help of excessive amounts of water. He coughed. "Especially not what happened right after that."

"You mean-"

"Don't. Don't even go there."

Alfred shrugged and opened the refrigerator. "Whatever. You're in denial, it's cool."

"I am not!" Gilbert said angrily. "And get out of our fridge!"

"Fine, fine." Alfred shut it again. "Wanna order a pizza?"

"We just _ate_." Gilbert said.

"That was _forever_ ago." Alfred insisted. "Come on…"

"You used your pizza money earlier anyway."

Alfred cursed. "Right." He yawned. "Can I crash here anyway?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Find a place to sleep. Doesn't matter to me."

"You gonna sleep in your bed?"

"Duh."

"I can't sleep in Luddy's room, huh?"

"If you do, he might kill you." Gilbert said, yawning himself. "I mean, you can try…"

"Can I just bunk with you?"

"Alfred, no, that's weird. Sleep on the couch."

"But we're best friends-"

"You're gay. I'm not sleeping in the same bed as my gay friend. With my luck you get morning wood or something."

"Only when you're around-"

"Shut up, fag." Gilbert muttered, walking out of the kitchen and flipping off the light. Alfred followed him and Gilbert heard him stub his toe.

"Aw, please? You know I don't do good on couches…"

"No, Alfred!"

"I won't do anything! And I swear I usually don't get morning wood! Me and Matt share a bed all the time-"

"That's your _brother_."

"Yeah, but he's cute."

"How narcissistic of you."

Alfred laughed and ran into the couch. "Ah crap… it's dark in here."

"I noticed." Gilbert pushed open his door.

"_Please_ let me sleep with you? Please? I swear I'll sleep on top of the covers and everything! You've got a big bed, please, please, please, please, pretty please with sprinkles and beer and a shot of rum-"

"FINE, just-"

"Thank you Gilbert!" Alfred said eagerly, jumping off the couch and hugging him. "You're the bestest most awesome friend ever in the whole worl-"

"Put me the fuck down."

"Right. Sorry. No more clingy."

"You better keep your hands off me." Gilbert threw himself on the bed, clothes and all.

Alfred pulled off his jeans.

"Put your god-damn pants back on."

"But I'm wearing boxers…"

"You're not sleeping in my bed without pants on!"

Alfred took off his jacket and dumped it on the floor. "Aw, come on, you won't even notice through the blankets."

"I hate you." Gilbert muttered, digging down under the blankets and settling there. Alfred collapsed on the bed next to him.

"Farther that way." Gilbert mumbled around his pillow. Alfred sighed and shifted.

"Can't we at least spoon-"

"GOOD NIGHT, ALFRED."

* * *

Something stabbed him in the back. Gilbert edged away from it, but it followed him. He opened his eyes.

"Alfred, get the fuck off me!" Gilbert shouted. "You promised you wouldn't get morning wood!"

"No, I said I only get morning wood when you're around." Alfred said, but there was something wrong with his voice. It was huskier, deeper. Gilbert squirmed away from him.

"Woah. You look really different without your glasses." Gilbert said. Alfred grinned at him.

"I know. I think I should start wearing contacts." He rolled over so he was hovering over Gilbert. Gilbert pressed down into the pillows.

"Alfred-"

"Shhh…" Alfred said, working a thumb into Gilbert's shirt. He pulled open the first button and moved down to the second.

"Uh, Alfred-"

"Shhhh…." Alfred finished his shirt and pulled it off him. "Don't talk."

"I'm serious Alfred, if you think I'm going to let you-"

"Just enjoy it." Alfred told him, still grinning. He worked at Gilbert's pants button.

"See, this is why I didn't want you to sleep in my bed!" Gilbert said, trying to push Alfred's hands away. He didn't seem to be having any effect. Alfred undid his pants easily and slid them off.

"Like you don't want it."

Gilbert was now in his underwear.

"Now undress me." Alfred commanded. Gilbert shook his head, but his hands were already at Alfred's collar, undoing his shirt. They pulled it open in one motion, popping the buttons off and leaving Alfred's sweating chest exposed. Gilbert felt his own 'morning wood' start up.

Alfred's mouth attacked his. Their tongue's wrestled for dominance, but eventually Alfred won, leading Gilbert, teaching him. Gilbert followed hungrily, eagerly. When had Alfred taken off his pants? Gilbert felt his own boxers slide off and he glanced down.

Alfred's boxers were off too. He immediately forced their mouths together again, pinning Gilbert in place with a hand on his chin. He was so _strong_…

Alfred reached around Gilbert, down to his-

* * *

Gilbert scrambled off the bed and fell on the floor with a smacking sound. Alfred jerked upright, blinking in the light flooding in through the window. He glanced down quickly. Okay, good, no morning wood, he kept his promise.

He leaned over the side of the bed.

"Uh…are you okay?"

"Shut up!" Gilbert shouted. He was curled forward on himself.

"You didn't like, re-break your arm or something, di-"

"I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!" Alfred caught a glimpse of Gilbert's face.

"Wow, nice blush." Alfred said. "Your whole face is red. Is that 'cause you're-"

"FUCKING SHUT UP, ALFRED." Gilbert stumbled to his feet, hands between his legs.

"What, you're not embarrassed about morning wood, are you-"

"Oh my God Alfred, if you don't shut up I am going to…" Gilbert trailed off and scrambled out the door.

"Going to what?" Alfred asked, following him. "Going to hit me with your massive boner?"

Gilbert slammed the bathroom door.

"What, you're just going to rub on out in there?" Alfred giggled. He heard the shower start. "A cold shower? Really?"

The noise continued and Alfred gave up and collapsed on the sofa. He landed on something and pulled it out from under him. A remote control. Gilbert had cable, right! Alfred eagerly turned it on and sank into the sweet bliss of cable television.

Ludwig's door opened.

"Oh. Hey Alfred. Did you..uh…sleep in Gilbert's room?"

"Yup." Alfred said.

"And…he's…uh…taking a shower now?"

"Yup."

"…do I need to wash any sheets?"

Alfred laughed. "No, relax, he's taking a cold shower. Embarrassed by his morning wood, you know."

"Oh." Ludwig said. "Whatever. Turn down the TV. I got home at about six in the morning thanks to Elizabeta."

"No prob, sorry Ludwig." Alfred said, hitting the volume button on the remote. Ludwig disappeared again and Alfred returned to his muted show. Hey, muted was better than nothing.

Eventually the shower turned off. Alfred looked eagerly at the bathroom door.

Gilbert pushed the door open, wearing nothing but a towel around his middle.

"So was it hot or cold?" Alfred asked. "Because hot showers can really-"

"Fucking shut up, Alfred."

Alfred grinned. "Your brother thought we had sex. I set him straight."

Gilbert immediately blushed furiously. Alfred laughed.

"What? What's got you so embarrassed?"

"N..nothing. It was just a dream. You can't control dreams, okay? It's not like I wanted it to happen-"

"Wait, you had a sex dream?"

"No!"

"Was I in it?"

Gilbert's blush darkened. He went back in his room and slammed the door.

"I was!" Alfred laughed. "You had a sex dream with me? That's awesome!"

"Shut the fuck up, Alfred!" Gilbert shouted through the door.

"Was I any good?"

Gilbert's door opened and he stormed out, now fully dressed.

"I didn't have a sex dream!"

"Was my cock bigger than yours?"

"Alfred!"

"Oh, come on, you should know I've had sex dreams about you. And Arthur. And this one girl. And Matt once-"

"You had a sex dream about your _brother_?" Gilbert asked.

"Well…yeah." Alfred shrugged. "What, you've never had a dream about Ludwi-"

"OH MY GOD SHUT UP!" Gilbert said, covering his ears. "No, no, no, no, shut up, shut up!"

"What?" Alfred asked. "Well he is kinda h-"

"STOP TALKING!" Gilbert said desperately. "FINE, I HAD A SEX DREAM ABOUT YOU. PLEASE STOP SAYING THINGS ABOUT LUDWIG!"

"You realize he can hear us, right?"

Gilbert blushed again. "I do now."

"So, what was it like?" Alfred asked. Gilbert went into the kitchen and Alfred followed. "Was I good? Was I bigger than you?"

"Wha- would you stop?"

"I'll start talking about Ludwig again."

"Uhhhrrgg… fine." Gilbert pulled out his prescriptions.

"You have to take them _again_?"

"Aren't you so happy you aren't me?"

"Kinda." Alfred watched him. "So was I bigger than you?"

"Inhumanly so."

"Seriously? Awesome." Alfred said happily. "Was I hot?"

"I wouldn't know. I'm not into that kind of thing."

"Did you want it?" Alfred asked. "In the dream, I mean. Or did I like rape you?"

"Uh…both."

"You wanted me to rape you?"

"Uh…"

"Was I buff?" Alfred asked eagerly. "Was I like…ripped?"

"Yes."

"Did I have my glasses on?"

"No."

"Did I look like me?"

"Not really."

"Was I hotter?"

"Kinda."

"Ah ha!" Alfred said. "So you were attracted to me!"

"In the fucking dream!" Gilbert said. He dumped the pills in his mouth and swallowed. "Just…would you stop now?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"So what was your dream with Matt like?"

"Oh, that was a weird one, we were in this hot tub, right, but it was floating in the air, like a thousand miles up in the air and it was night so there were stars all over the place like fireflies and we were both naked and Matt-"

"Okay stop, before I vomit."

Alfred shrugged. "It's just a dream."

"Yeah. Whatever." Gilbert muttered, opening the refrigerator. "Want some eggs?"

"Yes! I'm starving!" Alfred said eagerly.

"Gilbert, I told you Alfred isn't allowed to eat at our house." Ludwig called.

"Oh. Morning Ludwig." Gilbert said. "What time did you guys leave?"

"About five in the morning." Ludwig said, coming into the kitchen. Alfred had never seen Ludwig early in the morning. He choked back a giggle.

"What?" Ludwig asked, shoving a pot in the coffee maker.

"Your hair."

"What about it?"

"It's…so flat."

"It's always flat."

"But…it's like…down."

Ludwig stared at him. "I haven't combed it yet…"

"I've never seen it down."

Gilbert slammed the refrigerator door. "Don't get a brain hemorrhage, Alfred."

"Shut up." Alfred laughed. "You look exactly the same in the morning, by the way." he added to Gilbert.

"That's because he never showers or combs his hair or changes his clothes-"

"I change my clothes!" Gilbert said. "Well…usually."

"You wore those yesterday."

"They didn't get that dirty."

"You slept in them." Alfred pointed out.

"You're disgusting." Ludwig said.

"Whatever." Gilbert said. "Put on pants, Alfred, I wanna get food that doesn't taste like dirt."

"You had fast food last yesterday!" Ludwig called after him as he left the kitchen.

"So?"

"You're not supposed to have so much greasy food-"

"No one is. You'll give me a ride, right, Alfred?" Gilbert said, poking his head through the doorway again.

"Duh." Alfred said. Gilbert vanished.

"Then let's go, bitch!"

Alfred chuckled.

"Here." Ludwig pulled open the door and handed him a few bills. "Just get him something slightly nutritious."

Alfred laughed and pushed the money away. "Shut up, I can buy him breakfast."

"You don't-"

"Money's tight, yeah, but not as tight as you guys. Matt won't get on my case if I buy Gilbert breakfast. Put that towards the mountain of prescriptions he's taking. I'm sure they cost a fortune."

Ludwig shrugged. "Whatever you say. Just don't say anything to Gilbert about it. He'll get touchy."

"He gets touchy about a lot of things."

"Yeah, well," Ludwig shut the drawer again and picked up the coffee pot. "that's Gilbert."


	14. I'm Immune to Scopaesthesia

Gilbert watched Alfred mow his way through a plate of bacon and eggs.

"Are you gonna breathe sometime soon?"

Alfred mumbled something and continued to eat. Gilbert stabbed one of his fried eggs and watched the yolk bleed out onto his plate.

"Are you ever hungry?" Alfred asked.

"Yes!" Gilbert said indignantly. "It's just…the pills, you know. They kill my appetite."

"Eh, the stuff they had me on when I got my appendix out did that."

"I can't imagine you without an appetite."

"I know. It was terrible." Alfred spooned another pile of eggs into his mouth. "But you should probably…you know…eat. I don't want to have to explain that you survived a car crash and died of starvation in a Denny's."

"Yeah, Yeah." Gilbert stabbed his eggs uninterestedly. "Hey, why are we here? I mean, McDonalds was closer-"

"I promised your brother you would eat something nutritious."

"Yes. Fried eggs and mystery meat sausage. Nutrition abound."

"So speaking of sausage-"

"If you mention this morning one more time I will shove this sausage down your throat." Gilbert threatened, shaking his fork at him.

"Okay fine." Alfred picked up a piece of bacon and threw it in his mouth. "So, we're two men, both attracted to women…ever have a sex dream about Elizabeta?"

"Why would I need to dream about that?" Gilbert asked moodily.

"Because she's marrying another man and you can never have that ass again?"

Gilbert stared at him.

"What, it's a nice ass!" Alfred said.

"Uh…yeah. Sure."

"Seriously though, have you?"

"Have I had sex dreams about my ex-girlfriend?" Gilbert asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yes. Yes I have, Alfred."

"Were they better than the real thing?"

"Of course not."

"Yeah, Artie was way better in real life." Alfred shrugged. "Dreams never really live up to the real thing, you know?"

"Yeah." Gilbert sighed.

"Elizabeta's hot though."

"Alfred!"

"What? She is! I'm not going to lie about it!"

Gilbert shook his head. "Of course she's hot. I dated her, didn't I?"

"Yes, by default, that means she is at least a ten."

"She's definitely at least a nine."

"Eight and a half." Alfred said. "She's damn hot sometimes though."

"Yeah." Gilbert said. He stabbed his other egg. "Fucking _Roderich_."

"Yup. She is."

"Shut up!"

Alfred laughed. "What about Artie? He's at least…. An eight."

"Oh come on. Don't flatter yourself, he's a seven." Gilbert shoved a bit of egg in his mouth, finally.

"How would you know? I knew you were in the closet."

Gilbert felt his cheeks take on a pink tinge. "I am not. Just because…it was on my mind is all. I told you not to sleep in my bed."

"Oh, pshaw." Alfred waved his explanation away. "But come on, Artie's at least as hot as Elizabeta."

"Fine. He can be an eight."

"All right!" Alfred laughed. "Hey, what about that girl in art class?"

"I'm not in your art class."

"Oh, yeah, right." Alfred dumped more salt on his eggs. "She's that foreign girl, with the short hair and massive…" Alfred cupped his hands on his chest. "'tracks of land'."

"'Tracks of land'?"

"Boobs."

"I got it."

"Do you know her?"

"Uhh…I don't think so…"

"She's Ivan's sister."

"Who?"

"You know." Alfred prodded. "Ivan. He's massive. Sells drugs behind the convenience store two blocks down."

"So how do you know him?"

"Oh, uh…." It was suddenly Alfred's turn to blush. "I might…uh.."

"You buy drugs from him?"

"Of course not!" Alfred said indignantly. "I've never done drugs!"

"So…you dated him."

"No!" Alfred said. "I..uh…"

"You had a one-night stand with him!" Gilbert was laughing now.

"Don't call it that! It wasn't like that!"

"Did you blow him?"

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Alfred demanded, shoving more eggs in his mouth angrily.

"You did!"

"Wh-no! I did not!" Alfred said angrily. "Fine, I had sex with him, but I did not _blow_ him."

"Whatever you say, Alfred." Gilbert pushed his unfinished plate at Alfred. "You look like you need this more than I do."

"Absolutely not. You will finish that plate, young man." Alfred said stubbornly, putting Gilbert's fork back in his hand. "Eat."

"Fine." Gilbert made a face and stabbed his eggs again. "So, you and Ivan…"

"When me and Arthur broke up, last year, you know…" Alfred sighed, watching Gilbert hungrily. "I met Ivan…and he was…hot."

Gilbert laughed again.

"Shut up." Alfred retorted. "Anyway, regardless of Ivan's level of hotness-"

"Is he at least as hot as me?"

"-I met him at the bar one night and he looked kind of lonely so I chatted him up a bit and before I knew it we were humping each other in the back of my car." Alfred stole a piece of bacon from Gilbert's plate and chewed it absently. "Three days later I found my wallet in his coat pocket. We never saw each other again."

"Sure."

"We didn't!"

"So how do you know he sells drugs?"

"I…might've…seen him. Once or twice." Alfred said hesitantly.

"Buying drugs from him, are you?"

"I already told you I've never done drugs in my life."

"Except the ones you're supposed to be taking."

Alfred was quiet for a moment.

"Elizabeta told you about that."

"No, Elizabeta is loud." Gilbert said off-handedly. "So what aren't you taking? ADD pills? I'd believe that."

"No. I don't have ADD. Or ADHD."

"Seizures?"

"Why would I refuse to take seizure medication?"

"Asthma?"

"Do they have pills for Asthma?"

"Come on, tell me what you have." Gilbert said.

"It's…" Alfred played with his fork. "It's just….complicated."

"What? STD?"

"No! You're gross."

"Well that's all I could think of that might be embarrassing."

Gilbert set his chin in his hand. "A couple minutes ago you were still laughing at the idea of us having sex. You can't tell _me?_"

"Look, it…" Alfred hesitated. "You know how you don't like telling people your parents are dead? How you don't like how people treat you kind of different because of it?"

"Yeah…well… It's not like I've got room to judge, then."

"No, I know you won't." Alfred sighed. "I just… You will subconsciously. It took Matt a couple years to stop, and that… That's Matt. He _lives_ with me."

"So it's not genetic, then?"

Alfred shrugged. "It's not been proven. They don't know."

"What's it do that makes people look at you so different. What are you, deaf?"

"No…"

"Blind?"

"I can drive, Gilbert. Plus I wear glasses."

"Good point…can you not feel pain?"

"That would be awesome, but…" Alfred massaged his temples. "Okay, look, what if I told you that my emotions tend to be…extreme. Like, really happy and then really sad."

"What? Like PMSing? Are you secretly a girl?"

"No." Alfred said dryly. "I…Look most people have heard of the disease but they don't really know what it is-"

"You have Tourette's."

"What? No."

"Then what _is_ it?"

Alfred pulled back the prongs of his fork and it slipped from his fingers, sending it catapulting onto another table.

"I'm bipolar."

Gilbert was quiet. Alfred was afraid to look up, still staring at the fork he'd launched into a napkin dispenser.

Suddenly, Gilbert laughed. Alfred looked up, somewhat angrily. Gilbert sagged back in his seat, pushing up his sunglasses to wipe his eyes.

"D..damn it, Alfred, it h…hurts when I get tears on my face…"

"What's so fucking funny?" Alfred demanded. "I'm not joking!"

"I k…know you're not." Gilbert calmed down again. "I'm just laughing because it's such a stupid thing to be concerned about."

Alfred felt somewhat hurt. "Well it…people judge you weird when-"

"No, I get why you don't tell everyone." Gilbert said, holding up his hand to stop him. "I meant, why didn't you tell _me?_ What room do _I_ have to judge you?"

"I…Matt did." Alfred said sheepishly. "So did Arthur. That's kind of why we broke up."

"I thought you broke up because he made you take your pills?"

"_Tried_. And same thing, really."

"Why don't you take them?" Gilbert asked. "What do you take for bipolar disorder, anyway? PMS pills?"

"Shut up." Alfred snapped. "No, I just…I don't like taking them because when I do…I feel like someone is telling me what to feel."

"What?"

Alfred sighed. "Imagine everyone else got wildly excited whenever anyone mentioned…something stupid, like…the color purple."

"Why…?"

"Just do it." Alfred snapped. "So every time someone mentions purple, everyone gets ridiculously excited, except for you. So they take you to a doctor because of it. The doctor gives you pills so that whenever someone says purple, you get excited just like everyone else."

"So?" Gilbert shrugged.

"But you don't care about purple." Alfred pressed. "You don't even like it that much. Now everyone is telling you you're _supposed_ to care about it. You're supposed to like it so much it evokes deep feelings of euphoria in you."

"I mean, I guess I get what you're saying, but who cares?"

"But you don't _like. Purple_." Alfred pressed. "They make you take pills so you do."

"I…"

"They're not _your_ feelings. About purple. Someone went in and implanted them. Now imagine instead you really liked the color green, and they said that was wrong, so they gave you pills that make you just feel like green is okay."

Gilbert didn't say anything.

"I don't like taking them." Alfred said quietly. "I don't like purple."

Gilbert nodded slowly after a minute. "Okay. Okay, I get what you're saying. But…what about…the depression? Bipolar disorder causes depression too, right?"

Alfred shrugged. "My feelings are my feelings. Sometimes you're sad, right? No one tells you you're not allowed to be sad."

Gilbert nodded again. "Yeah."

Alfred stared idly at his spoon.

"So this is depressing."

"Very." Gilbert agreed.

"Do you think I can launch this spoon into that booth too?"

"Please try."

* * *

Another boring, uneventful night working alone at the bar. There had only been about two customers, and one of them ordered plain vodka, which seemed like cheating, somehow. Oh well, at least he hadn't been overwhelmed by customers, which sometimes happened when Matt had the night off. Alfred locked the front door and flipped off the lights, checking out the window for any mafia members. It had become habit. He still thought they were in the mafia.

He hummed to himself as he checked that he'd turned everything off in the kitchen and flicked the last light switch, locking the door behind him. He sighed and examined Matt's key. How come _he_ didn't get a key to the bar?

Nervously, Alfred glanced over his shoulder. He should stop watching so many horror movies. Was that someone behind the dumpster? No, just a shadow…stupid flickering street light. Alfred sped up and hummed louder, drowning out the silence. Was _everyone_ studying? And now he'd forgotten where he'd parked, brilliant…

There. That was definitely a sound. A click, or something. Keys hitting together? High heels? Did he have a stalker?

Maybe he really ought to be taking his medication, if he was hearing things. Those weren't footsteps behind him… they were just…echoes…

There. _That _was a click. Alfred paused to turn around and look.

And _that_. That was a gunshot.

They were a terrible shot, whoever they were. The bullet grazed his jacket, tearing a hole in it but missing his skin. He didn't stop to tell them what he thought of their marksmanship.

He turned and ran. What were you supposed to do, zigzag? He just turned down the first street he saw, scrambling to keep upright. He almost tripped over his own feet.

The gun fired again and this time found its mark in his shoulder. His heart was pounding his ears. There was blood on his fingers. Where had they hit, exactly? Did his shoulder still work?

He guessed it didn't really matter. A hand wrapped around his arm, a vaguely familiar hand. Didn't he know that hand? Someone…someone he knew…

His head was foggy. Why was it getting darker? And the ground…it was moving. Moving closer? No, that couldn't be right, he was floating. Floating somewhere with this oddly familiar hand around his arm. Was that blood? There was so much of it, it had to be paint. It stained the pavement and washed over his shoes like a tide. It rose to his ankles, his knees... the smell was overwhelming. It had to be blood. Who was bleeding? Where was all this blood coming from?

Alfred stumbled forward, searching. Someone was bleeding, someone needed his help. Someone…had been shot? That sounded right. Someone had been shot. Who?

He was wading through blood. Who was bleeding? Could you lose this much blood and live? Was there even this much blood in a person?

Someone called his name, sounding pained. Someone was hurt. He stumbled forward. Why did his shoulder hurt?

Matt. Matt was calling him. The blood had reached his chest. He pushed through it, struggling against the growing tide. Where was Matt? Was he hurt, was he here? Was this his blood?

The thought sent Alfred's heart pounding. Matt was hurt, Matt needed his help.

But the blood was still rising. It splashed against his nose and mouth. He couldn't breathe. He was choking on blood. It was too thick to swim. He was going to drown and Matt needed him and he was stuck and…

Alfred blearily opened his eyes.

Blood. Matt. Shot. Alfred struggled to push himself up but his arm gave way.

Right. He was the one who'd been shot.

The nightmarish…vision? Dream? Hallucination? Whatever it was, it wasn't real, and it was fading.

He tried to sort out his thoughts. What did he know? He'd left the bar…and…and someone had followed him. Someone had shot him, in the shoulder. He'd…he'd recognized the person who shot him. Or he thought he did. And Matt, had Matt been there? Or was that part of his hallucination?

Where was he? There was a little light in here from a vent way at the top of the wall, near the ceiling. Boxes everywhere, a few labeled in English…. Meat. That's all it said.

Weird.

He sat up. His head spun. He reached in his pocket, looking for the meds he knew he wouldn't have. Why did he never have his meds? He should really start taking those…

Someone had tied a dirty rag around his shoulder. He prodded at it and gasped. It felt like they'd carved the bullet out with a dull knife. Or maybe that was just what being shot felt like.

His jacket. His bomber jacket. Where was it? Aww, his dad was going to kill him…

He leaned against the wall behind him, the same wall with a vent in it, staring at the boxes. What language was that? He spoke a little Spanish…. Gilbert had taught him a few words in German, mostly swear words.

Weird letters…. They looked backwards, or something. Upside-down? Maybe it was just a really weird font. He scratched his arm and his fingers grazed something. What was that?

He looked down. Had he cut himself? He shook his sleeve back and felt a chill go down his spine. There were _letters_ carved on his _arm_. Holy crap. Maybe this _was _the mafia.

What did it mean though? Was that English, or was it more of the weird language on the boxes? Maybe they weren't letters, just really coincidental scratches.

Alfred groaned and let his head fall back against the wall. Well this sucked.

* * *

The door opened. Alfred broke out of his train of thought, distracted by the prospect of meeting his near-murderers.

It was a man he'd never met before. Or…had he? He looked familiar.

"Mr. Jones."

Well he didn't recognize that accent.

"Uh...hi." Alfred said slowly. "So…this is all just a mix up, right? You're just going to let me go, no harm done?"

"Of course."

"Really?" Alfred asked, surprised.

"Once you tell us a few things."

"I don't know anything!" Alfred said immediately. "A..about what?"

"Your friend's accident."

"He crashed!" Alfred said quickly. "He lost control of his bike and crashed into a tree! He was drunk, and I shouldn't have let him drive and-"

"Your skills as a bartender are not up for questioning here." Whoever it was, they squatted down so they were eye-to-eye with Alfred. Alfred pressed against the wall.

"Then…what do you want?"

"A few weeks ago you saw a few of my friends exchanging pleasantries in the street. I want you to tell me exactly what you saw."

"I saw…I saw two men in the street, talking!" Alfred said. Oh God, he was going to die here. "They were just talking! I don't…I don't remember anything else!"

"Think _hard_. I need to know if you are a threat or not, Alfred, and that's easier the more information you give me."

"They…they were in the street, they…uh… they exchanged something! Drugs? A gun? I don't know. I saw a gun though!" he was babbling, oh god, he was babbling. "They..they… I recognized one of them! Ivan! I know him from…from school!"

The man's eyes flashed. "You thought you saw an old friend from school?"

"N…not a friend." Alfred said. He wasn't _afraid_. Just…nervous. This situation was fucked up, this mysterious foreign guy asking questions and all these weird boxes labeled _meat_ and who knew what else and his shoulder hurt…. "That's all I know!"

"Thank you, Alfred." The man stood up.

"Are…are you going to let me go?" Alfred called after him.

He stopped and laughed.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

Matt groaned and scrambled for his phone. What time was it? Who the hell called him _this_ early in the morning? Someone had better be dying.

It wasn't his phone ringing. It was Alfred's.

"Alfred, your stupid phone is ringing!" Matt shouted. Someone pounded on the wall from the next apartment over.

Alfred didn't move. Matt cursed at his brother and shoved his glasses back on, hurrying across the one-room apartment to his brother's bed.

"Idiot get…" he faltered.

Alfred wasn't there.

He picked his phone up off the nightstand. Arthur?

"This is Matt." Matt said unsurely into the phone.

"Matt? Have you seen Alfred?"

"No, he was supposed to work late at the bar tonight-"

"I went to the bar, his car is there but it's all closed up." Arthur's voice had risen an octave or two. "When was the last time you actually saw him?"

Matt thought back. "Before his shift last night. He left for work and then… I haven't seen him since then. Are you sure Arth-"

"Alfred's missing!" Arthur said. "I knew it, he's probably dying in a ditch somewhere!"

"Arthur calm down!" Matt said, trying to calm his own pounding heart. "He's probably just off being Alfred-"

"He hasn't been taking his meds, what if he had some sort breakdown? What if he hung himself or, or-"

"Arthur just calm down!" Matt yelled into the phone. "He's had breakdowns before, okay? He's probably still at the bar, I'll go check."

"Well hurry! And call me once you get there! Or if you know anything!"

"Okay, Arthur!"

He hung up and grabbed his coat. On his way out the door, phone in hand to call a taxi, he glanced back at Alfred's nightstand. He grabbed Alfred's meds and shoved them in his pocket.

* * *

He was going to die down here. He was going to die, he was going to die, die, die…

Alfred curled in on himself. He shouldn't have mentioned that he'd recognized Ivan. That was clearly the mistake here.

It was dark. What time was it? At least he had a window, of sorts. He wasn't just lost in some hole.

"Pull yourself together." he muttered to himself. This wasn't getting him anywhere. He _wasn't_ going to die down here.

Maybe if he knew more about this place. These boxes, for starters. He pushed himself to his knees. His head spun a little, but not as much as before. His shoulder only hurt when he moved it, that was good, right? Should he pull the bullet out? Or was that bad…

He shuffled towards the boxes. They were a foot in a half tall, about the same size wide. He pushed one experimentally. It was heavy.

Maybe it was full of drugs. He looked between the boxes. The letters seemed the same, expect for the boxes marked in English. _Meat_. Was that what it said on the foreign boxes too? Creepy. He had a sudden image of the boxes filled with human body parts. Arms and legs folded together neatly, a head in the center-

He shook his head. This wasn't helping. The boxes were heavy wooden crates, but they looked like they'd been used before. The lids were hinged and had latches with padlocks to keep them shut. He found one with a loose hinge and carefully pulled it open. They couldn't know he'd looked inside these boxes… Although, if they were really worried about it, why would they put him in the same room?

_Because they already plan to kill you_. Alfred scratched at the letters carved on his arm. He really didn't have a good feeling about that, whatever it was.

He took a deep breath and shoved his fingers into the gap under the lid. _Please_ let this be a box of spam… He pulled it open.

He felt the blood drain from his face. Why, why couldn't it have been drugs? Or human limbs?

Why did it have to be a box full of semi-automatic rifles?

* * *

"Alfred!" Matt called. But it was no use. The bar was empty. Just to be sure, he checked the freezer.

Where the hell was he? Matt chewed his lip. He hadn't gotten in a car accident, had he? That would just be perfect. Cars were getting way too dangerous. Maybe they ought to move far out into the country where no one owned cars. But, no, like Arthur had said, his car was still in the parking lot.

Matt left through the front door, figuring he might as well check the hospital and the police station.

"Hello Matthew."

Matt jumped.

"Oh...hi Ivan. You scared me. What're you doing here?" Matt asked, fighting to keep a smile on his face. Of course he had to run into _Ivan_ when he was already on edge and terrified...and alone…

"Just walking." Ivan smiled. "And you? The bar closed a while ago, didn't it?"

"I was just looking for Alfred." Matt said, wishing Ivan would suddenly remember an important event he was late for across town.

Ivan frowned. "Your brother? He is missing?"

"Not…missing." Matt said. "I just…can't find him. He's probably at Gilbert's, I should check."

"How is Gilbert?" Ivan asked, impervious to Matt's attempts to shake him. "I heard he was in an accident. Is he alright?"

"He's better." Matt said vaguely. "They said he'll make a full recovery…and all that." Matt leaned against the door he'd just locked, feeling his phone in his pocket.

"That's good." Ivan said. "Sad about Alfred, though, I hope he's not hurt."

"He's probably fine." Matt swallowed. "I..I should keep looking for him."

"Of course." Ivan said. "I'll let you know if I see him."

"Do that." Matt nodded, walking away down the street. At corner, he glanced back to look at Ivan.

He was gone.

* * *

Alfred dropped the lid and shoved the box away from him, scrambling back to the relative safety of his corner. He was going to die, die die…

Who were these people? Mafia? Drug dealers? A gang? Was he caught in the middle of some war? Maybe they were terrorists.

Alfred looked up at the vent. It was too small to climb through; he probably couldn't even fit his head through it. And it was out of reach anyway.

And his arm hurt.

* * *

It was morning. Alfred wasn't at Gilbert's, Arthur's, Antonio's, Francis', Elizabeta's, or Feliciano's. He wasn't at the hospital, as a John Doe or otherwise, and he was not in the police station.

Matt had no other choice. He pulled open his phone, scrolling through the list until he found the number he wanted. He had no other choice, right? This was last-resort time. His brother was missing.

Matt took a deep breath and pressed the glowing call button. The line rung a few times before it connected.

"Hey, Dad…"


	15. Agoraphobia

Matt chewed his knuckle, an old nervous habit. He paced the bar, the only place he could think to go. Alfred would be so mad if he knew he'd called Dad. If he was even still alive…

Still, if Dad could put aside his argument for the moment, Alfred could too. There was a knock at the front door.

"Arthur." Matt said, surprised.

"I knew you'd be here." Arthur said, pushing past him. "Look, Alfred's missing, right? How long do you have to wait to declare someone officially missing, twenty-four hours? If we just-"

"I called Dad."

Arthur paused in his bee-line for the counter.

"You _what_?"

"I had to!" Matt said desperately. "Alfred could be hurt or...or worse...I can't-"

"He's coming _here_?"

"Of course-"

"I'm leaving." Arthur said, turning back around.

"Arthur, wait!" Matt said, grabbing his arm. "Come on, Alfred's out there somewhere and we both know Dad is our best chance of finding him-"

"He actually cares enough to bother?" Arthur sneered.

"Arthur, he's our _Dad_." Matt said, frowning. "He's not _heartless_."

Arthur sniffed disbelievingly but stayed where he was. "Fine. But he'll just have to deal with me being here."

"I'm not going to let him make you leave…"

* * *

"Mr. Jones."

Alfred groaned and looked up. Sunlight filtered in from the vent.

"I feel bad. You know my name but I don't know yours." Alfred said, sitting up and wincing.

The man smiled. "Me?" He seemed to think for a moment. "You can just call me, 'The Emperor'."

Alfred scrubbed his eyes. "Well then, The Emperor, may I ask when you might let me go?"

The Emperor laughed. "You do not speak German well, do you, boy?"

Weird question. "No, not really."

"Well, I assure you I am still thinking on it. My colleagues are very against letting you go, you see. They fear you will spread lies about us." The Emperor leaned down so they were face to face. "I've told them they're wrong but they're _very_ hard to convince."

"You...you should know my Dad's in the military!" Alfred said suddenly, pressing against the wall as hard as he could. "I bet he's already looking for me! He'll find you!"

The Emperor straightened again. "Major Jones. He's in the Air Force, correct? Very useful, here on the ground."

"He'll find you!" Alfred said angrily. "He'll make sure you pay! If you kill me or not, he'll find you!"

"Well, now, if the outcome is the same, why not just kill you now?" The Emperor asked brightly.

Alfred faltered. "B...Because. Then you couldn't use me for ransom."

The Emperor laughed. "You are hardly worth a ransom, Mr. Jones. You are the son of a miserable war veteran who fancies himself an active member of the air force. You don't have a penny attached to your name."

Alfred swallowed. Maybe he should just stop talking.

"Your friend, Mr. Beilschmidt, his name is _very_ familiar. He would be worth quite a bit to his grandfather, I'm sure." The Emperor added thoughtfully.

"G…Gilbert? He hates his grandparents." Alfred said shakily.

"But his grandfather doesn't hate him." The Emperor pointed out calmly. "You know, you may prove useful yet. Perhaps I will keep you alive."

* * *

"This is where you work?"

"Y...yeah." Matt said tentatively. "It's…just to pay for classes. How've you been, Dad?"

Dad ignored him. "Your brother's been missing for how long, now?"

"Errr…since last night. At about six, I guess? He was working a shift here by himself and...that was the last I saw him." Matt said.

"Did anyone see him in the bar?"

"I did." Arthur said, his voice full of challenge.

Dad's face changed. "Hello Arthur." he said stiffly.

"I'm surprised you came."

"You think I'd abandon my son?" Dad asked coldly.

"You already did." Arthur said, his voice dripping with barely-concealed rage.

"I did no such thing. Alfred left under his own free will."

"After you called him a dirty fag!" Arthur exploded. "After you disowned him for being a crime against nature!"

"Alfred was a good boy before you changed him!" Dad shouted back.

"I didn't fucking change anyone, he made the first fucking move! Face it, you idiot, Alfred's always been gay!"

"Alfred's a normal boy!" Dad shouted, face turning red. "You've just confused him!"

"Why, because I'm gay or because I'm foreign?" Arthur screamed. "Only American blood for your stupid precious innocent little boy! Foreigners and their dirty ass-fucking!"

"This isn't about you being foreign." Dad sputtered. "You corrupted Alfred-"

"You're the fucking corrupted one! You used to be Alfred's hero! It fucking tore him up that you couldn't accept him! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"_I_ should be ashamed of myself?" Dad demanded. "_I_ didn't-"

"SHUT UP!"

Both of them looked around for a moment, as if they couldn't quite believe Matt had shouted. Finally, they came to the conclusion that the only person around was, in fact, Matt.

"Both of you just shut the hell up!" Matt yelled at them. "This is getting us absolutely nowhere!"

"Matt's right." Arthur said, crossing his arms and staring furiously at the bar. "None of this is helping Alfred."

"You're right, Matt." Dad sighed. "I'm sorry. We can't declare Alfred officially missing for a few more hours still. Do you know anyone who'd want to hurt Alfred here?"

"No." Matt said, calming down. "I mean, everyone loves Alfred." Matt said, looking to Arthur for confirmation.

Arthur nodded stiffly.

"Okay, so, walk me through everything Alfred's done the last few days."

* * *

Alfred had taken to counting the cracks in the ceiling. There were only four, so it was rather repetitive. Once he'd gotten five, but he might have counted the one in the corner that looked like an eye twice.

His arm ached with every heartbeat. The pain was slowly spreading, down his arm, across his back… he wondered if eventually his whole body would just hurt. If he lived that long, of course.

He'd examined the door. It locked from the outside. It was a heavy door, which meant either it was used to keep people in or keep them out on a regular basis. Probably both, judging from the vent. He'd still tried kicking it, but he didn't have enough energy to really try. Like it mattered, he'd just run into The Emperor's arms. Or gun.

The Emperor. Alfred couldn't figure him out. For one, he couldn't seem to make up his mind about killing Alfred. For another he wanted to be called 'The Emperor, which was just weird.

"Alfred."

Well that wasn't The Emperor.

Alfred looked towards the door to see his new visitor. He sat up quickly, mind reeling.

"Oh, good, you recognize me." he smiled. "I was worried."

Alfred's voice caught in his throat. He suddenly wished the wall was a little farther back, just to give him more room to lean away.

"Boss said you recognized me." Ivan smiled. "I thought I saw you in the window. But you're very resilient, Alfred, I was hoping I could just let it look like an accident, like you'd lost control of your car, but you walked away from that with a broken arm, didn't you?" Ivan shook his head, squatting down, elbows on his knees, fingertips pressed together. "And then you survived being shot. You're just built like an ox, aren't you?"

Alfred didn't answer.

"Maybe you didn't see anything. But I can't risk that, can I?" Ivan shook his head. "Boss would have been very angry if you had run and told the police, or your father. But you're not speaking to your father, are you?" Ivan didn't seem to be expecting an answer. "Ah, no, but when you were finally here, I convinced Boss to keep you alive, just for now. He is not an easy man to convince, and I already owe him favors, you should thank me, Alfred."

Ivan looked up from his fingertips to smile at Alfred. It was a hollow, empty smile, filling his face but lacking any of the sincerity that might have made him look human. "You know, it was fun with you, even if it only lasted three days." Ivan frowned suddenly, a look just as empty. "But then you told me it was a mistake, I clearly wasn't the man you thought I was. And you went running back to Arthur, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry." Alfred blurted out. "That wasn't fair, I'm sorry!"

Ivan stood up. "Well it's far too late for that."

"Ivan it was just a fling, and you…you had my wallet…but maybe I shouldn't have assumed…! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I just-"

But Ivan laughed. "Rest assured, it isn't jealously behind my actions Alfred, although you are quite cute, covered in blood like that. No, Boss told me to make sure you didn't get any crazy ideas about escape and I told him I'd take care of it."

For some reason this made Alfred nervous. "I'm not going to escape. I've just been sitting here, you know, counting the cracks in the ceiling. There's four you know! The one in the corner sort of looks like an eye if you squint-" oh god there he went again. "So I guess your job's done, right?"

Alfred laughed nervously, his voice echoing around the concrete room – his cell – and pounding back into his ears. He sounded insane.

"I'm sorry Alfred, I really am." Ivan said.

"Ivan?" Alfred squeaked, watching him pull something from the folds of his heavy jacket. A long, thin lead pipe. Well that was gruesome.

"Ivan don't do it, I'm not going anywhere, I swear, I-"

Alfred's voice cut off, stretching out into a pained shout as the pipe found its mark in his ribs.

* * *

Matt tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter. Of all the days his boss had insisted he work… Even though he knew it wasn't his fault, Matt couldn't help but glare at Roderich every now and then.

Dad was at the police station, now that Alfred could officially be declared missing. Matt knew he would be driving them insane. He was good at that.

"Matt, man, you're gonna drive me nuts with the tapping." Gilbert told him finally. "I know you're worried, but that's just gonna drill a hole in the counter."

"Sorry." Matt muttered, picking up a towel to keep his hands busy. The counter was already spotless.

"Hey, they'll find Alfred, no worries." Elizabeta said. "He's probably just lost somewhere. He's got no sense of direction."

"Is your Dad really a homophobe?" Gilbert blurted out. Matt could tell he'd been milling it over for a while now.

"He's a fucking idiot, is what he is." Arthur said angrily, draining the last of his drink. "He's a bastard and a liar and-"

"Make your own opinions of him when you meet him. He'll be back here once he's convinced the search is going as he thinks it should." Matt interrupted.

"That'll take a while." Arthur scoffed.

"I just can't imagine your dad being all..not cool with that. I mean…Alfred…" Gilbert said slowly.

"It's a major problem in our family, so don't bring it up." Matt said, with a hint of a warning in his voice. Two could play that game.

But Gilbert backed off. "So…was it this quiet and awkward when I was missing?"

"No, there was more celebrating." Elizabeta said. Roderich snorted into his glass.

Gilbert opened his mouth to reply but Ludwig beat him to it.

"Which is why you were having a panic attack before he woke up." he said dryly.

"I was not!" Elizabeta said angrily. "Was I panicking, Roderich?"

Roderich paused. "I...love you?"

"Oh, just shut up." Elizabeta said, shoving him gently. "Shut up!" she added, catching sight of Gilbert's grin aimed at her.

Matt's phone vibrated on the counter and he grabbed it hurriedly. Some part of him still hoped it would be Alfred, even though he had Alfred's phone too.

"Dad. Hi."

The following conversation involved a lot of terms Matt didn't understand and a lot of cursing and finally he was able to boil it down to three important facts:

No one knew where Alfred was.

The police were looking for him.

Dad was coming back to the bar.

"Okay. Okay, bye Dad." Matt said finally, hanging up the phone before he starting complaining about something else.

"So…that was your Dad?" Gilbert asked innocently.

"He's coming back here. The police told him to stop getting in their way." Matt said. "So he's calling in a few favors to get jurisdiction here. Until then, he's just supposed to wait here quietly."

"Beautiful." Arthur said darkly.

Matt put his hand over Arthur's glass. "Enough, alright? He hates you already, you don't have to be an underage drunk too. In fact, all of you, last drinks unless you hand over some ID, got it? I don't need my Dad on my back about this too."

* * *

Alfred nursed his broken fingers. He was lucky that was all he'd broken.

He hurt all over. Blood and bruises stained his skin a mottled purple-brown. Already, he felt his skin turning lopsided with swelling.

He curled on the floor, wishing he at least had his jacket. It was cold, with the vent. He shivered and the movement only made everything hurt worse. Maybe it would have been better to just die here. Would it be very hard, considering what he was surrounded with?

But, no, the guns weren't loaded. He'd checked.

He groaned and stretched out on his back, pulling his sore muscles out. They protested, but once he'd settled he felt better. He wondered what Matt was up to. He must have noticed he was missing by now. Had he called the police? Probably. Matt liked to make sure everything was taken care of by the most qualified person around.

Alfred yawned. Well, certainly there was _someone_ who could probably help, but he doubted he would actually come. He felt bad for Matt. If he did end up dying down here, which he probably would, Matt would be devastated. Or maybe he was just being self-centered again.

* * *

"Hi Dad." Matt said quietly. "Want a drink?"

"No." Dad told him. "I don't want to lose any concentration."

He didn't really seem aware that he was being stared at as if he'd suddenly grown horns.

"A little late for that, isn't it, old man?" Arthur said causally. Despite Matt's pleadings, he'd continued with his drinking. "Or maybe you're just afraid you'll make a bigger idiot of yourself. Personally, I don't think you've got much to worry about."

"I seem to remember that you aren't twenty-one yet, Arthur." Dad said coolly.

"I seem to remember that you're fucking not going to do anything about it." Arthur said, making a show of finishing off the can.

"Matt, you shouldn't be giving drinks to mi-"

"This isn't Matt's argument, if you've got a problem with the way I act, you talk to me. Don't take it out on what's left of your son's self-confidence." Arthur said, crushing the can in his fist and dropping it on the counter. Matt reached for it.

"Don't touch it." Arthur snapped.

"Don't tell me how to talk to my son." Dad said, his voice rising.

"Here we go." Matt muttered.

"Maybe if you hadn't proven just how much of a failure you are as a father I wouldn't." Arthur snapped.

"Don't you dare tell me what kind of father I am!"

"Oh, you didn't know? Maybe it's just because someone put a blindfold on you, can you see anything besides red white and blue?"

"My country has nothing to do with-"

"Your fucking country has _everything_ to do with this-"

"Alfred loves his country, you shut your mouth."

"Don't tell me what to do, wanker, I will curse out the United States of America all day long if I please." Arthur said loudly, standing up. "Last I checked, freedom of speech was still on the list of things you _can_ do here."

"That doesn't mean I'll let you talk about it like that-"

"What are you going to do about it?" Arthur shouted. "You can't control me like your little pets. I'm not going to just do what you want because you tell me to. No wonder you ended up all alone!"

"Arthur." Matt said sharply.

Arthur sat back down. "Don't act like it's not the truth. Why did you even call him, Matt, he's clearly useless. Get me another beer, will you?"

Thank god Dad's phone rang at that exact moment. Matt was far too wound up to bother diffusing any more arguments.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Kirkland, I have to take this call." Dad said dryly. There went the anger.

The door swung shut behind him, leaving the group crowded around the bar silent again.

"Uh…so…He reminds me of Alfred." Gilbert said.

"What?" Arthur demanded, turning to glare at him.

"No, I mean, he was kind of… but he kind of acts like Alfred, doesn't he?" Gilbert said, backtracking. "I mean…I dunno, he just reminds me of Alfred."

"No you're right, he does." Antonio nodded. "'s like the way he talks or something. Plus he's got that weird cowlick thing going on."

Matt laughed. "Yeah, they both sort of work the same way."

Arthur gave a short, humorless chuckle. "Yeah. You could say that."

"Didn't you say he and Alfred have the same disease?" Elizabeta asked curiously.

Matt nodded, watching Dad's silhouette in the window. More shouting.

"Well he's obviously an ass though." Gilbert said, giving his final opinion on the matter. "No offense, Matt, but your dad's a dick."

Ludwig hit Gilbert over the head. "Be more offensive, Gilbert, I don't think you're trying hard enough."

"Hey, hey, easy, I've already got a headache." Gilbert winced, massaging his head. "Anyway, like I'm not right?"

"Yeah he's a bit hard to be around sometimes." Matt shrugged. "But, you know, he's my dad. He's stressed right now. And Arthur isn't helping."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue.

"No! You shut your mouth now and you don't open it until you have something constructive to say! You're making problems, Arthur, now shut up and stop drinking everything in sight before I hand you over to the police and let them deal with your drunk ass, are we clear?" Matt cut him off loudly.

It was quiet. Arthur closed his mouth.

"Dude…I've never seen you…explode like that." Gilbert said slowly.

"Impressive." Francis added.

"You try growing up with Alfred without learning to raise your voice." Matt muttered, pulling the top off a fresh bottle and emptying half of it in one swig. Dad came back inside, lost in thought.

"Hey, Dad, any news?" Matt called. Arthur fumed silently.

"There's been a crime problem in this area, they think Alfred might have gotten mixed up in it." Dad said, shaking his head. "You haven't seen anything weird, have you, Matt?"

"No…" Matt said slowly.

"What about those mafia guys Al saw?" Gilbert said, swallowing his mouthful of onion rings. "Remember? And then you guys crashed your car."

"You crashed the car?" Dad asked.

"It's not a big deal." Matt said, scowling at Gilbert. "Someone was drunk, pushed us off the road. They weren't trying to kill us or-"

"Alfred sounded like they were." Gilbert cut in.

"Alfred's imagination gets away from him sometimes." Matt snapped. "It was an accident. Alfred broke his arm, I got a concussion, otherwise nothing happened. If they wanted us dead they could have finished us off right then."

"Maybe they just wanted to give you a warning." Gilbert said mysteriously, holding up his glass to the light as if examining it for poisons. "Hey, when someone says there's someone out to get them, I _listen_." he added, glaring at Ludwig now.

"Gilbert, not now." Ludwig groaned.

"No one's out to get Alfred." Matt assured Dad. "Don't listen to him, he's crazy."

"I'm not crazy!" Gilbert insisted. "I'm just…unwell."

"Well if there's any leads we can get we shou-what happened to your face?" Dad had finally caught sight of Gilbert's healing patchwork of skin.

"What happened to yours?" Gilbert asked without missing a beat.

"He was in a motorcycle accident. And like I said, he's brain damaged." Matt interrupted while Antonio and Francis choked back laughter.

"Doesn't mean I'm crazy!" Gilbert said defiantly. "And Mr.. your dad's right. If there's any idea what might have happened it'd be stupid not to check it out."

"You know, Gilbert has a point." Elizabeta said thoughtfully. "I mean, you saw those two guys exchanging something in the middle of a deserted street at two in the morning and then a few days you get run off the road by a monster SUV? That's a weird coincidence."

"See? Gilbert has a point." Gilbert said.

Dad nodded. "True. I think that's something we need to work with. Until we find something better."

* * *

Something slid across the rough cement floor.

"Hungry, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred turned his head to look at paper plate The Emperor had offered him.

"'s that?" he croaked.

"Spam." The Emperor said. "You like Spam, don't you Mr. Jones?"

He didn't. No one did. But he was also starving. He sat up slowly and shoveled the eerie pink mush into his mouth. He couldn't even taste it, he was so hungry. How long ago had he eaten? Two days?

The Emperor chuckled. "I see your enthusiasm has not suffered any from Ivan's lesson."

Alfred pushed the empty plate back at him, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Lesson?"

"Perhaps lesson isn't the right word." The Emperor allowed. "Warning, then? An attempt to escape will not be treated with mercy, Mr. Jones."

Alfred didn't like the mocking way he said 'Mr. Jones'. Like he knew something Alfred didn't about his name. He liked his name.

"What're you keeping me alive for?" he asked bluntly.

The Emperor smiled. "I thought you were keen on staying alive. Did you change your mind?"

"No." Alfred said slowly. "I'm just wondering what you're planning."

"In good time, Mr. Jones." The Emperor promised. "Be patient."

"Where are we?"

The Emperor seemed to consider this. "The basement of a convenience store." he said finally. "Although, I'm sure you've gathered that it's a little more than an innocent corner shop."

"Will there be any more 'warnings'?" Alfred asked after a moment of silence.

"That is entirely up to Ivan." The Emperor said with a smile. "And you, of course. Any misbehavior will not be tolerated."

* * *

Matt had fallen asleep at the bar. His face was stuck to the counter, and he peeled it off once he'd gathered that he had, in fact, fallen asleep standing up. Sunlight filtered in through filthy windows.

Dad was probably at the police station again. If he'd gotten jurisdiction, or whatever it was, he wouldn't be leaving until they found Alfred.

Which they would, Matt reminded himself. Dad was the most determined person he knew, short of Alfred. If anyone could find him, Dad could.

He wasn't alone, he realized. The booths were littered with sleeping masses, mostly friends waiting for news about Alfred and too exhausted or drunk to bother driving home. Matt clapped his hands sharply and the bar jerked back into motion.

"What're you guys still doing here?" Matt asked.

"I'm here because I forgot Roddy gave me a ride and I didn't have any way to get home." Elizabeta yawned.

"I fell asleep." Antonio said from the floor. "You know it's kind of comfortable down here?"

"I know." Francis said suggestively.

"Ah, Francis, if you want to spoon, do it with someone who likes your morning wood!" Antonio cried.

"Gross, Francis." Elizabeta called.

"It's grosser from here!" Antonio told her, getting to his feet to get away from Francis.

"It's natural." Francis protested. "Now, if there were someone who'd like to-"

"No fucking in the bar." Matt broke in.

"Fine." Francis said in a dignified manner, standing up. Matt winced. "I'll be in the bathroom."

"Thank you for the mental picture." Arthur called after him.

"You guys can go home, you know. I can call you if we find anything out." Matt said.

"Should you be alone though?" Elizabeta asked. "I mean, if someone hurt Alfred, you're next, obviously."

"I feel so safe, with a group of hung-over college students protecting me." Matt said dryly.

"We can't have you vanishing too, Matt." Elizabeta argued. "I mean, the last thing we need is for the uncontrollable force that is Arthur to explode on your dad."

"Hey," Arthur said, turning to look at her.

"What, you're going to deny that the only thing stopping you from adding another missing Jones to the list is Matt?" Elizabeta asked him.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Can I get a drink, Matt?"

"It's seven in the morning." Matt said.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Good. So you can sober up for now."

Arthur scoffed.

Matt glanced at his watch. He had midterms in an hour. Should he go? Could he even focus? But if he missed midterms, he wouldn't be able to pass at least two of his classes. He couldn't imagine Dad being very happy about that.

"Okay, guys, time to leave. I'm closing up for now, the bar's closed this week but I'll open it for you tonight" Matt called. "Go take your midterms or study or something. Now get out."

* * *

"How'd you do?" Elizabeta asked, yawning. "I think I got the last part wrong, where it asked for your opinion on the current state of affairs of Europe? God I hate history."

"How'd you get your opinion wrong?" Matt asked.

"I just babbled about stuff my Dad told me about Europe from like thirty years ago."

"I guess that's not really current, is it?" Matt shook his head. "What about you, Ludwig, you have history, right?"

"Tomorrow." Ludwig said, scanning through his notes.

"She'll probably give you the same test. It was so hard." Elizabeta complained. "You had to know all this stuff about World War Two and how the relations of Europe still reflect that or something stupid like that."

"We just covered that two weeks ago." Matt pointed out.

"I wasn't listening, okay?" Elizabeta scoffed.

"That's because that was the week Gilbert was in the hospital again because he took the wrong pills at the wrong time." Ludwig said.

"Well it was distracting!" Elizabeta said angrily. "He shouldn't be so careless."

"_I_ have notes from that." Ludwig said, offering them for her examination.

"You just love me too much." Gilbert leaned forward to grin at Elizabeta. She turned away angrily, crossing her arms.

"Maybe I was just busy hoping you finally managed to kill yourself." she sniffed.

"Whatever you tell yourself at night." Gilbert shrugged. "Where're you going?" he added when Ludwig stood up.

"I left my book in the car." he said, pulling his keys from his pocket.

"Oh, I left my phone in the car!" Gilbert said suddenly, getting to his feet.

"I'll get it." Ludwig told him. "I don't need you tripping in the parking lot."

"You don't know where it is!" Gilbert insisted. "I keep it hidden."

Ludwig sighed. "Fine, come on."

* * *

Alfred was having trouble keeping track of time. Had it really only been one day? Had he fallen asleep and missed the daylight? It was so cold and lonely here in his cell. Or tomb, depending on how you looked at it.

But then Ivan came back, smiling at him as he slid a pair of handcuffs over his wrists. Alfred didn't say a word, terrified that he'd provoke another 'warning'.

The Emperor came to visit him as the sun was setting.

"What's with the jewelry?" Alfred asked, holding up his bound wrists.

"I'm leaving the area for a while." The Emperor said, smiling at him in that weird, disconnected way of his. "And I don't want you to think of that as the perfect opportunity to plan your escape."

"I've been good, haven't I?" Alfred asked before he could stop himself.

The Emperor laughed.

* * *

Gilbert watched his feet carefully. If he just didn't look up, he could do it… It was when he lost his concentration that he tripped.

Six weeks later. He wasn't sure if he ought to be thrilled with the progress, or disappointed at how small it was. The semester break was in another six weeks, he'd have to be able to walk without looking to reapply in classes.

Of course, that assumed he wouldn't have to abandon school entirely to pay for his growing string of medical bills. He'd never thought he'd be so far in debt before he'd even finished school.

Ludwig unlocked the car and pulled his papers from the back seat. Gilbert fished distractedly under the seat for his phone, clutching the door frame to keep from collapsing into the car.

Gilbert had learned a lot of things in the last nine years. Don't sleep next to garbage cans. If you look homeless, stores won't let you inside. People give you more money if you have some kind of visible bruise.

And he'd also learned that the best thing to do if someone grabs you from behind is to aim low and twist. So that was his first reaction when his arms were suddenly pinned to his sides.

But his reflexes weren't what they had been. Whoever it was, they had time to rearrange their arms and cover his mouth, cutting off the surprised shout that had been building in his throat.

A gunshot. A shout. Gilbert's brain floundered, trying to keep up. Where was the adrenaline, the rush? Everything was getting faster and he was being left behind.

He was facing away from the sounds. There were two of them? Two of…

And it clicked. Gilbert's arm swung back, a reflex from older days. Something cracked under his elbow and he was released instantly.

"Ludwig!" he called. "Fuck, Ludwig, where are you?"

When did it get so dark? He couldn't see anything, as if the streetlights had suddenly gone out. Someone's hand clamped over his mouth, cutting off his shouting. He bit down angrily on the fingers dangerously close to his teeth. His mouth filled with blood and someone gasped in pain. He spat red onto the asphalt.

Someone cursed behind him. He struggled to turn around, again, hindered by feet that had forgotten their job. He lurched forward, fingers fastening around the gun that had been pressed against his kidneys just a moment ago. They fought him, struggled against his hold. He might not have made much progress with walking, but damn it all if he couldn't hang on to something.

An elbow found its mark. Gilbert felt blood well around his eye, obscuring his already-limited view. Blood ran down his cheek, a lot of blood. But the gun was still, miraculously, in his hand, and he wasn't giving up now. One-handed, bleeding, unstable, Gilbert was not going to let go of the only thing that might actually save his god-damned life.

He didn't even remember doing it, but suddenly his knee was in the man's groin, and he doubled over. A sharp yank that nearly threw him to the ground, and the gun was his. He held it as confidently as he could. He'd never so much as been near a loaded gun, but _they_ didn't need to know that.

Another gunshot, not from him. He registered no new crippling wounds, so that meant…

Gilbert turned around, desperate, brandishing the gun more like a club than a firearm.

Car doors slamming, tires squealing. He couldn't see anything, couldn't think straight. His finger wasn't even on the trigger.

Someone grabbed him from behind. He just wouldn't fucking give up, would he? Gilbert pulled at the arms that had suddenly cut off his air, the gun a forgotten obstacle. What little he could see faded to black, disappearing into the blur of threatened unconsciousness. There was another gunshot in the distance and his arms and face burned as if he'd thrown them into a barrel of needles.

Another gunshot. He felt the thud but not the pain. The pressure was gone. He gasped, hands at his bruised throat, watching half the world come back into view. The other half remained hidden behind a wall of red.

Tires fought for traction and found it, grabbing the asphalt and sending the thick black SUV forward. His would-be strangler ran for it, grabbing the arm offered out through the open door. More shots that shattered the air and only made his headache worse.

Someone caught his unhurt arm.

"Kid, you okay?"

Gilbert tried to catch his breath, still gasping for air. The panic was gone, the parking lot was quiet. But the terror was only just beginning.

"Wh..where is he?" Gilbert demanded, voice grating against his damaged throat.

"Who?" Gilbert stopped clinging to his rescuer long enough to identify him. Alfred's dad. Of course.

"Ludwig!" Gilbert said explosively. "He was here and now he isn't, explain!"

Mr. Jones frowned suddenly. "Your brother?"

"Yes, my brother, they fucking took him, didn't they? Are we going to wait around all night or find them?" Gilbert shouted, shaking Mr. Jones' hand off his arm and stumbling back a few steps, clutching the still-open car door for support. "They...fuckers."

"It's Gilbert, right?" Mr. Jones asked. "Just calm down, okay? We can call the police, tell them what you saw, they'll he-"

"SO DO IT!" Gilbert shouted at him. "SO FUCKING DO IT! Don't just stand there and stare at me! Don't you get it, right now they're driving away and, and-" his voice cut off unexpectedly.

"I'll call them, now, alright? Go inside and let Matt clean you up. You're not hit, are you?" Mr. Jones' voice was frustratingly calm.

"No, I'm fine." Gilbert lied. "Just…call. Please."


	16. An Eye for an Eye, a Heart for 300,000

Elizabeta tipped back the drink Roderich had bought for her with his official, state-licensed, laminated ID, since Matt was no longer cool enough to take hers. Her mind was pleasantly cool and fuzzy, not really drunk, but definitely buzzed.

It was so loud inside, so crowded with people celebrating their finished midterms, trying not to think about the ones still ahead. There was only so much studying you could do. Elizabeta forgot about her advanced biology, five-page, in-class essay with another heavy gulp of whatever was in her glass. Was that rum and tonic? Maybe just rum.

Some called her indescribable ability to know exactly when something was happening silly things, like 'crazy' or 'really weird'. To her, it was just a really good way to pick up new gossip, or as Alfred liked to call it, 'rip off scabs'. Hey, scabs were meant to be ripped off.

So when the door opened Elizabeta was the first to see it, and when Gilbert stumbled inside she was the one to catch him before he tripped over his own feet again.

"Gilbert?" she asked. He pushed her arms away anxiously, and she felt something thick and sticky on his hands.

"Gilbert, are you bleeding?"

"That's not important!" he exploded.

Someone pushed past them, towards the bar. Gilbert watched them anxiously, fingernails digging into her arms.

"Gilbert, oh my god, what happened to your eye?" Elizabeta gasped, recognizing the source of the blood. "Are you okay? What happened?"

But Gilbert was still focused on the bar. Elizabeta looked herself, watching Mr. Jones talk quickly with Matt, who handed over the bar's landline phone, frowning anxiously. Mr. Jones turned around, facing their direction, and waved Gilbert towards him. Gilbert immediately pushed forward, apparently unaware that he was no longer supporting himself. Elizabeta helped him towards the bar, where he listened to Mr. Jones' conversation as if it were the most important thing in the world.

"What happened?" Elizabeta asked Matt, trying to wipe the blood off herself and Gilbert. People were starting to notice.

Matt handed her a towel. "Dad said something happened outside, something about-"

"Ludwig!" Gilbert said suddenly, turning to Elizabeta. His one good eye was crazed. "They took him!"

"Why?" Elizabeta asked, taken aback by Gilbert's panic. She'd never seen him so worked up over anything. He was one of the most easy-going people she knew.

"Why would I know?" he said angrily, clutching at Elizabeta's collar, soaking it with blood. "But they came outta nowhere! Shot him, I think, and drove off, in a big black SUV!"

"Gilbert, sit down." She said slowly, looking him over. Were his arms cut? His hands? Had he been shot? His arms looked pretty bloodied up.

"Why?" he asked angrily, but didn't protest too much. He looked exhausted, and the moment he was no longer using his one good hand to hold himself upright he pressed it to his bleeding eye.

"Is he alright?" Matt asked, leaning over the counter. "What's wrong with his eye?"

"'caught an elbow to the face." Gilbert muttered. "'s fine."

"I'll get the first aid kit in the back."

"I think he needs more than a bandaid, Matt." Elizabeta told him, but he vanished into the back anyway. Mr. Jones was still talking rapidly into the phone

Gilbert wasn't listening anymore. "It's fine, I'll take care of it." He said distractedly.

"I don't think it's fine at all." Elizabeta said, turning to Matt as he returned from the back, pushing a heavy metal box onto the counter.

"This thing is too heavy not to be useful." He panted. He caught sight of Gilbert's eye as he pulled his hand away and made a face. "Urg. Are you sure you're alright.

"I'm fine." Gilbert brushed Elizabeta's worried hand away angrily. "Leave it alone. You got ice, Matt? My head's killing me."

Matt opened his mouth and then seemed to think better of it. He rummaged under the counter.

"Gilbert, are you sure? Maybe you should go to the hospital-"

"Look, it'll stop bleeding any minute now." Gilbert said furiously, accepting the towel and ice Matt handed him and pressing it to the bloody side of his head. "And in case you haven't noticed, I can't exactly afford any more medical bills."

"But.." Elizabeta said, frustrated. "Matt don't you think he should be in the hospital?"

"I think he should be where he thinks he should be." Matt said, watching his dad continue his conversation, which seemed to have ventured into territory with so many words she didn't understand she didn't bother to listen.

"What kind of answer is that?" she asked, angry that Matt would argue _against_ taking Gilbert to the hospital.

"The kind that means I get to stay here and know what's going on with Ludwig." Gilbert said determinedly. "Just drop it."

But Elizabeta was not the type to 'drop it'. She opened her mouth angrily, intending to remind them both of this fact when she caught sight of Matt's face. He wasn't looking at Gilbert, or at her. His eyes were fixed anxiously on Mr. Jones, and he was twisting a dirty towel in his hands.

She realized this was something that, for once, she ought not intrude on.

Someone wrapped their arms around her waist and, even though she knew who it was, she looked up. Roderich kissed her quickly, a formality rather than a splurge of passion. "What's going on?"

"Gilbert's being an idiot and Ludwig's missing." Elizabeta said casually. She broke away from his hold and reached for the first aid kit. Hey, she would let Gilbert sit here all day, it didn't mean she'd let him bleed out while he did it.

"What?" Roderich asked, surprised. Elizabeta realized that, as Feliciano was not yet involved, the incident was isolated to their tiny corner of the bar.

Feliciano.

Crap.

Elizabeta shook her head and pulled the first aid kit open. That was a bridge she would cross when she came to it, and not before. It was bad enough that Gilbert's fingers were drilling a hole into the counter, she didn't need Feliciano panicking too.

The first aid kit was ancient. Elizabeta probably imagined the puff of dust she saw. Probably. Inside, everything was neat and ordered, yellowed Band-Aid wrappers and warped bottles with peeling labels. But Matt had been right, it wasn't completely useless. Elizabeta tore open a paper packet dryly labeled 'bandage'. The cloth inside hadn't suffered with age, so she pressed it to Gilbert's eye.

"Hold." she ordered firmly. He reached up and held the bandage tightly to his bloody eye, watching her now that she was cutting off his staring contest with the phone in Mr. Jones' hand. She didn't like the way his eye looked, glazed and glassy as if she were miles away, though it followed her closely.

She focused on a second bandage wrapper. He was just distracted, that was understandable. He was fine. Gilbert was right, the blood was already slowing down. She pulled out the bottle of antiseptic to find it oddly light.

"It's empty." she said, looking at Matt.

"Oh, ah…" he glanced at his dad. "Alfred heard you can set fire to hydrogen peroxide."

"He works at a bar surrounded by flammable alcoholic beverages and he lit the hydrogen peroxide on fire." Elizabeta said in… Well, not disbelief, she believed it. Annoyance, maybe.

"Yeah, well." Matt shrugged. "He's burned alcohol before. He never burned hydrogen peroxide."

"That's stupid." Elizabeta said, still holding the empty bottle.

"I'm just telling you his thought process." Matt said defensively. "I told him we'd need it one day but…well you argue with Alfred, tell me how it goes."

Elizabeta finally set the bottle on the counter with a defeated sigh.

"Use vodka."

Elizabeta turned to see Mr. Jones hang up his call. "What?"

"We used to do it back in the war days." Mr. Jones handed the phone back to Matt. "Well, we used brandy, but vodka's better. Cleaner."

Matt shrugged and pulled a bottle off the shelf. "It's like a five dollar bottle but I really don't think that matters."

"Worth a try." Elizabeta tore the cork from the bottle. She was tempted to test just how cheap it was, but Mr. Jones was practically breathing down her neck, and she doubted, somehow, that he would take very kindly to underage drinking at the moment. She carefully wet a fresh bandage and, throwing all caution to the wind, dabbed it on one of the cuts on his hands.

He hissed and jerked away.

"It can sting." Mr. Jones added.

Elizabeta bit back a sharp retort and held Gilbert firmly in place by the arm as she slowly cleaned the worst of the scrapes from his arms.

"So…what do they know?" Gilbert asked, twitching under her hold and pulling the bandages away from his eye to look at them.

Mr. Jones sighed. "It's too much of a coincidence, in a town this small… they think the kidnappings are connected, and they have a few ideas…nothing concrete but-"

"Who? What?" Gilbert asked anxiously.

"Just…troublemakers in the area." Mr. Jones said.

If there was one thing Elizabeta was good at, it was knowing when there was something someone wasn't saying.

"Who?" she asked, drying Gilbert's puckered skin.

"Just…a group in the area." Mr. Jones said evasively.

"Like the mafia?"

They turned to look at Matt, who turned red and busied himself with something under the counter. "I…Alfred put the idea in my head."

"Not exactly." Mr. Jones said after a moment. "Just a.. business."

"Drugs?" Roderich offered.

"Sort of. Medical drugs." Mr. Jones nodded.

"There's money in that?" Elizabeta asked.

"Of course. People need medication and when they can't afford it…they'll do what it takes to get it. Especially if otherwise means watching their children suffer or die."

"So they deal in drugs? What do they need Alfred or Ludwig for?" Elizabeta wiped the blood off her hands with a towel Matt offered her and looked at Mr. Jones. He shifted uncomfortably. She noticed that a lot of his tells were the same as Alfred's. Probably Matt's too, but she'd never really had to work to get something out of Matt.

"Now, we're not sure about these being the people behind this-"

"But you think they are, don't you?" Elizabeta pressed.

Mr. Jones looked as if he were about to deny it and then seemed to think better. He eyed Elizabeta carefully. "I think it's a very good possibility."

"So what do they want hostages for?" Gilbert demanded. Elizabeta set a hand on his fingers before they drove her insane.

Mr. Jones looked at Matt. "Do you have any more vodka? The good stuff?"

Surprised, Matt turned back to the shelf behind him, pulling a much fancier bottle down and setting it next to his dad. "This good?"

"That'll do." Mr. Jones poured the drink himself while they watched. Elizabeta felt a boiling pit of anxiety growing in her stomach.

"This is hardly more than a rumor, it might not even be true. And even then, we don't know that these are the people who took Alfred and…Ludwig you said?" He tipped the glass back with experience and swallowed the contents of the glass. "The police have been working on it, if it's true it's global. They think it originated somewhere in the middle of Europe."

"Get on with it!" Gilbert told him angrily.

Mr. Jones stared down at the bottom of his glass. "Medical drugs are one thing. People will pay a lot of money for a pill that will save their life. The medical system is…difficult, at best. They turn to whoever seems most likely to help." He refilled his glass. He was still stalling, but none of them were willing to interrupt anymore. "Now, it's one thing when it's a miracle pill. It's another when you're in need of something a bit…bigger."

"Like dialysis or chemo?" Elizabeta asked.

Mr. Jones smiled, although there was something dark about it. "That, or, say, a heart."

A shiver ran down Elizabeta's spine.

"W..what?" Matt asked.

Mr. Jones emptied his second glass. "There is a huge market for black market organs. Kidneys, mostly, since you don't have to kill anyone, but there are people who rob morgues and funeral homes." The steady sound of vodka hitting his empty glass. "Now, there are a few people who think this is a very…roundabout method. Gangs, organized crime, for instance. That's a lot of bodies that disappear every year. There are people who look at those numbers and say what a waste that is. But, why not take that one step farther? After all, why wait until you need someone dead?"

Mr. Jones swirled the vodka in his glass but didn't drink it. They were disgusted, disturbed, but they also weren't about to interrupt. He laughed, and it was the coldest sound Elizabeta had ever heard.

"If you could take people, people who wouldn't be missed. People with no families, no one to wonder where they went. The homeless." He paused. "Orphans. People no one wants to care about. Just make them vanish. Well, that adds to your body count, and that means more money for you. Obviously, you have to cover your tracks sometimes, but that just means more money in your pocket. Say a kid happens to see your men doing business in some quiet street. Well, why take the risk?"

"You're saying it…it's like a chop shop?" Elizabeta asked, feeling blood drain out of her face.

Mr. Jones laughed again. "Yes. Yes, in a way, that's exactly what it is. Get your hands on a body no one wants and divide it. No one knows where it comes from, wash your hands, wash your money, no one can track it back to you."

"Dad…Dad you're not saying…that's what.." Matt looked like he wanted to throw up. Elizabeta didn't blame him.

"Now, this isn't fact, it's rumor." Mr. Jones said quickly. "None of it is proven. There's not enough evidence to even know who these people are. But something's happening, this is just one of the explanations for it."

"You're saying they're being cut up for parts?" Gilbert asked suddenly. Elizabeta couldn't read his voice. She had no idea what he was thinking, which was unusual for her.

"I'm saying it's a theory-"

"Fuck theory!" Gilbert stood furiously. "What do you think? Right now, do you think they've been kidnapped to be cut up for their parts or not?"

Mr. Jones paused. It seemed everyone was hanging on his answer, as if that would decide what they would believe too.

"Yes."

Gilbert sat back down immediately. Elizabeta had thought he couldn't get any paler – she was wrong. Before anyone could do anything, or even get over their shock over Mr. Jones' answer, he snatched the bottle from the counter, the cheap, five dollar vodka, and downed it.

Elizabeta reached for it and tore it away from him, but he gave it up without a fight. Why bother? It was already empty. She stared in awe at the bottle and then at Gilbert who, very determinedly, got up and strolled out of the bar as if he'd never had any problems walking in his life.

* * *

The sound of laughter. The door opened and Alfred stared at the ceiling, ignoring it. At least twice a day, The Emperor's drunken henchmen poked their heads inside to laugh at him. It wasn't worth his energy to look.

"A friend for you." One of them crooned. Laughing. They were drunk.

"Hurry up and shut the door, the smell of blood is getting to me." One of them said. The laughing doubled, as if this were the most ridiculous thing in the world.

The sound of something hitting the smooth cement floor. The door slammed shut. Alfred considered looking and then decided against it. If they thought it was funny, he didn't want to know.

Something moved.

Alfred turned his head sharply, grating his head against the concrete. Something had moved. He'd heard something move. Had they thrown a wild animal in here with him?

A groan, a human groan. Alfred relaxed in relief and then immediately tensed again. Who was it? Another unfortunate prisoner, or one of their drunk friends? Alfred wondered how that might play out for him and then suddenly felt guilty. Someone might have just been thrown into the same situation as him and here he was, whining about how it would affect _him_.

He rolled over carefully and propped himself up on his elbows, easing around his healing ribs. Right now, his entire chest was stiff and painful. Could he move farther? Did they need help?

"Hey." he called, his voice rasping harshly from pain and lack of use. He coughed and tried again. "Hey, you. You okay?"

Someone groaned. There was more movement. His view was blocked by the stupid crates. He shuffled forward on his knees carefully. He didn't know what kind of threat this was, after all.

"Hey. Can you hear me? Can you talk?"

A gruff voice answered at last. "Yeah."

Relieved and anxious at the same time, Alfred paused.

"You okay?"

"I can't tell."

Alfred knew what that was like.

""s cool. Can you move?"

"I think."

"Try."

"I can't see anything."

"Your eyes will adjust. Follow the sound of my voice." Alfred had never thought he might the one in charge down here. "Watch out, there's boxes everywhere."

More shuffling. Alfred saw a few boxes move and heard faint cursing. They couldn't be hurt too badly, then.

"Where is this? What happened?"

"Good question." Alfred said, leaning around the box as they carefully pushed themselves upright. "If you're like me you got taken out of the blue for some reason I don't really know yet and you'll be hanging out with me for a few days."

They sat up. Alfred squinted through the gloom, but his glasses were filthy, and he didn't have anything cleaner to wipe them off with. He could see a hunched shape, and that was all.

"So, who're you?"

A pause. They looked up at him.

"I'm Alfred." He offered, knowing that, at the moment, they might not be too keen to trust anyway. "I've been here a few days, or something. I think. I haven't been counting. Alfred Jones, by the way. So what's your name? You can just give me your first name."

For whatever reason, Alfred suspected insanity, they laughed.

"Ludwig." They said after a moment. "It's Ludwig, Alfred."

Alfred paused. "What're you doing here?"

"Same as you, I guess." He shrugged and then winced.

"Did they shoot you or something?" Alfred asked. "They shot me. Right in the arm. It hurt like a bitch." He lifted his arm as if in explanation. "You cuffed? They cuffed me. The Emperor said he didn't trust me or-"

"The Emperor?"

"Oh, right, yeah the guy who runs this joint, I guess. He's some freaky foreigner, I can't figure out where he's from. Well, he asked me about German so…I don't really know." Alfred was rambling but Ludwig didn't seem very talkative at the moment.

"Who else?"

"Uhh…" Alfred thought back. "Ivan. Ivan's here."

Ludwig must have picked up some change in his voice because he looked up at Alfred then.

"Ivan?"

"Old friend." Alfred said evasively. "He's been in here a few times. He's with The Emperor, that's all I know. Hey, you alright?" he added. "You never told me if they shot you or something. Or beat you. Or whatever."

"Just in the leg." He said after a minute. "But they patched it up, while I was unconscious I guess. It's just a scratch, really."

"Well that's good." Alfred said. Ludwig pushed the boxes out of his way to see Alfred more clearly. "Overplay it, though. Make it seem like it's really hurting."

"Why?"

"Just do it." Alfred said firmly. "Don't move too much. Just act really tired all the time."

As his eyes adjusted to the light, Ludwig looked Alfred over again.

"Why are you sitting like that?"

"Like what?" Alfred looked down, confused.

"Hunched over."

"Oh, I'm just stiff, you know, I haven't moved in a while." Alfred lied, rolling his shoulders.

"What've they been doing to you down here?"

Alfred laughed, but even he could tell it was cold and dry. "What do you mean? Like they could touch me. I've just been sitting here."

"They've been beating you."

"Why would you say that?" Alfred asked, still smiling and shaking his head.

"Because that's how Gilbert sat before they fixed his ribs."

Alfred was quiet. "Just don't move too much. Make them think you're not a threat."

* * *

Seeing as there was no longer anyone else to make sure Gilbert wasn't about to kill himself, Elizabeta rushed after him once the initial shock had passed. She pushed open the doors, worried he might have vanished into the night.

No. He was right outside the door. Vomiting in the street.

She caught him before he fell in his own pool of sick, holding him at arm's length, trying to block out the smell and sounds.

It didn't last long. Gilbert didn't have much in his stomach. He panted, clinging to her with one arm, still facing the street in case he wasn't done.

They were quiet for a while, save the occasional dry heave on Gilbert's part.

"You're not supposed to be drinking anything with your meds."

"I know."

"If they react they might kill you."

"I know."

Gilbert leaned heavily on her. When had he gotten so thin? Gilbert had never been a very bulky person, but she seemed to remember him being a little more than skin and bones. Finally, dry heaves done, he leaned his head on her chest, suddenly exhausted. His voice was raspy with the after-effects of throwing up. The smell was starting to affect her, and she swallowed a gag.

"Go home, Gilbert. I'm sure no one's going to keep you out of the loop." Elizabeta said quietly. "You need rest."

"I know." It seemed all he could say. After a moment, he added "I…don't want to go home, though. It'll be empty."

"Come to my place then. I'll keep an eye on you."

She knew that, under normal circumstances, Gilbert would have jumped at the opportunity to spend the night alone with her.

Now he hesitated. "My meds are back at my place."

"I'll stay with you there, then." Elizabeta said.

"You're a good friend, Elizabeta." Gilbert said after a minute.

"I know."

* * *

Matt was under strict orders to call her if anything happened. Her phone was lodged firmly in her pocket, where it would not get lost or remain unheard. She pushed open the door to Gilbert's apartment with the key he reminded her was still in the potted plant just outside the door. Ludwig had the only other set of keys, and those were probably still in the car. Elizabeta promised to call Matt and ask him to get them.

She didn't bother turning on the light. She knew this room too well to need it. She pulled the door shut behind them, supporting Gilbert. He had lost all illusions of walking and hung from her neck like a dead weight, creating a knot in her shoulders. She let him collapse on the couch and rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension.

"Do you know when you're supposed to take your meds?" Elizabeta asked, breaking the silence. Gilbert shook his head.

"Ludwig takes care of it."

Elizabeta sighed and turned to the kitchen, hoping Ludwig had at least left some kind of instructions there. She flicked the light on and glanced around. The light proved unnecessary. Their house was simply too clean to need anything more than the faint moonlight filtering through the window. She left the light on to read the sheet left on the counter, clearly labeling out Gilbert's dosing instructions in Ludwig's neat, cramped handwriting. He wasn't due for anything until morning.

She left the paper where she'd found it and flicked the light off again. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark and she felt her way to the couch.

Gilbert had moved. He was now at the other end, staring at something in his hands. She sat down next to him. He didn't seem to notice, and it was too dark to see what it was. A photograph, she thought, but it was dark.

"'s a family photo." Gilbert said suddenly. "From before."

"Before what?"

"Before the accident."

Somehow she didn't think he meant his accident. She leaned closer, but it wasn't a very clear picture, too dark to see in this light. She suspected Gilbert wasn't even looking at it, or, at least, not here and now. He was lost in thought, staring at the physical manifestation of his memories. For once she let well-enough alone, giving him the quiet he obviously needed.

"I remember. I remember everything about that day. It was winter. December. Winter break was a day away. I went to school, like every other day. I was in sixth grade. Ludwig was in third grade. We went to the same school, but I didn't like that. I didn't want people to know we were related. Except for once, when someone was picking on him. I beat that kid up. I got suspended for three days."

She'd never heard him talk about his childhood, but now that'd he'd started it was like he'd opened a dam and couldn't stop.

"Mom dropped us off. She always dropped us off. Dad went to work before we left. He didn't work Fridays, so he was in the car, too. They were going to go shopping together. Something. I don't remember now. She usually said something stupid or momish like 'I love you' and 'have a great day' and I always wished she wouldn't. She was late that day. She didn't say anything, just 'goodbye'." His voice cracked. "I always regretted not saying it instead. I should have told her, I can't remember when I last said it, you know? 'I love you'. It's just three words. You don't even think about it. I should have said it."

Elizabeta set her arm around him, intending to comfort him, tell him he couldn't beat himself up for this, but he wasn't done.

"She drove a blue van. It was always really dirty, because there was a dirt road that lead to our house. I wrote 'wash me' on the back and then Ludwig did the same thing, only his 'e' was backward. At the time I just thought it was stupid. But Mom thought it was cute. She wouldn't wash it off for weeks. Dad thought that was funny. Turns out writing 'wash me' on our car just made it dirtier." She could tell he was crying now, but he was smiling too. "Mom was a good driver. She never got in an accident, ever. Even when she was doing makeup or something, she never even got a speeding ticket."

He choked back a sob. The smile had vanished, replaced by a hollow expression. "We had mixed lunch at our school. At morning break we were separated into older kids and younger kids, but at lunch we were all together. Usually I avoided the younger kids, but sometimes Ludwig found me. He looked up to me a lot, even though I gave him crap. He was with me and my friends that day, and I let him sit on my lap because we all thought it made me look grown up. One of the teachers found us. Said we had to come with her. I asked if we were in trouble and she wouldn't answer, just said to come with her, and bring our things. My friends laughed and said maybe they were sending us to military school. I laughed with them. Ludwig was scared. He'd never been to the office before."

Gilbert clutched the picture like a lifeline. "We went inside. I remember, it was cold outside, and it was warm in the office. Really warm. I was sweating by the time we got to the front desk. We were sent to the principal's office, and we had to sit there for what felt like forever. The bell rang but they wouldn't let us leave. Ludwig was scared but I told him to be quiet. I was a crap brother then.

"Then she came in and looked at us for a while. She asked if we had any relatives in the area. We didn't. She asked who our nearest relatives were and I told her my grandparents, who lived in Germany." Gilbert was shaking. With what, Elizabeta didn't know. "Then she left again. She came back with some man, I don't know who he was. At the time I thought maybe we were being sent to military school. He looked really tired, like he'd been doing this all day and just wanted it over with. He just knelt down and looked at us and then told us what happened."

Gilbert was rocking slightly. "Someone hit them. They'd been driving down the freeway, and someone ran right into them. Head-on collision. They died on impact." Gilbert's voice broke completely.

"I…" Elizabeta said hesitantly. "I didn't know your…parents.."

Gilbert nodded. "We went to a state home a few days later. I don't really remember it much. It was clean but all the kids seemed kind of done with life. Like it wasn't ever going to mean much to them. I didn't really think of them in the same situation as me. They were orphans, I wasn't an orphan. I couldn't be."

He spilled out the rest of the story. How they'd sent Ludwig away and how he found his way back. How he cracked a little when he saw Ludwig all covered in bruises by the people who were supposed to be helping him. How he realized then that Ludwig was the only family he had left and how he stopped trusting everyone who was supposed to be helping them. How he ran off, and how they lived on the streets for another year. How they had to spend nights in the sewers sometimes. How both of them had fallen into the sewage more than once. How they'd been caught and put back in a home, this time a different one. This time under the conditions that neither of them would be placed in a foster home.

"That was when I was fourteen. Same year I went to high school. They just shipped me off like it didn't matter I'd missed a whole year."

Elizabeta remembered. It was her first year of high school too, the year she'd met him. She'd been going through a lot of rough patches before that and dressed like a tomboy before Gilbert had asked if she was actually aware she was a girl. She'd slapped him. But they'd somehow been friends since.

"Things calmed down after that." Gilbert said, voice steadying. "I just went to school like a normal kid, you remember. Once I graduated I made sure Ludwig was signed under my name as a dependent and left that stupid house for good. I hated that place. I hated the people there and the kids and the way they ran it, like it was a zoo or…or a concentration camp. Something. Once Ludwig graduated he got a bunch of scholarships from the state and we enrolled here. Mostly because it was cheap and really far away."

The photograph was still in his hands. Her eyes had adjusted enough by now to make out four shapes. It must have been taken right before the accident. Gilbert looked about twelve. Both his parents had blue eyes and blond hair. Gilbert was the odd one out.

She was suddenly taken by the intimacy of the moment. A car passed by outside and the light from its headlights glinted off the ring on her finger. She shifted her hand so the ring wasn't visible. She wasn't betraying anyone. Gilbert was a friend in need. She wasn't doing anything wrong.

So why couldn't she look at her ring?

Gilbert seemed worn out. He leaned against her, and she couldn't help but think how it was backwards. He ought to be the one with his arms around her. She should have been curled against his chest. But, then, their relationship had never been exactly normal.

Roderich was different. No matter what was happening, she always fell into the woman's role. Somehow, if she was comforting him, it was his arms around her. Usually she was fine with that. Now she was wondering if she had missed this at all.

Gilbert answered her question for her. She wasn't sure when or how it happened, but she never was with Gilbert. It was slow and steady, like it always was. His lips melted on hers, and suddenly she was thinking of the violent passion she used with Roderich. This was different. She couldn't tell what she liked better.

But the next moment it didn't really matter. Roderich was gone from her mind. Her ring clattered to the floor as Gilbert tore it off, and she didn't even stop to think to grab it. He pushed her back, and she didn't fight him. She told herself it was because she didn't want to hurt him. It wasn't because she liked the familiar way his body settled on hers. It wasn't the soft way he pushed her back into the worn cushions. It wasn't the comforting feel of his hand on the skin of her hip, careful not to stray too far. It was funny, how no one believed her when she told them he never went farther than she let him. She supposed they imagined Gilbert tearing off her pants before she could even register what he wanted.

Her hands went farther. She felt up his back, under his shirt, and found that the memorized feel of his muscles had faded. She traced up his spine, feeling each individual bone like the rungs of a ladder. He was so thin.

She plunged her hands down again, past the lose waistband of his pants, and he kissed her harder, opening his mouth now, letting their tongues wrestle violently. His fingers felt for the button on her pants, undoing it with practiced ease. She found his, fighting with it for a moment. Then it came free and she pulled sharply, letting the zipper undo itself. He took his time, pulling it down gently. Frustrated, she worked his pants off faster. Gilbert liked to tease.

Her mouth worked at his hungrily, and he let her guide his lips. He finished her zipper and she forced her hands down to work her pants off herself, impatient and unsure how much he could do one-handed. He was still favoring his right arm. She broke their kiss long enough to tear her shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but underwear and a bra. He smiled and worked his lips against the skin just under her jaw. She pushed him away, knowing full well he would leave a mark if she let him.

He might be willing to go slowly, but she wasn't. He still had his shirt on, and she forced her fingers into the first button of his shirt. Why was he wearing a button shirt today? He interrupted her, pulling open the button himself. Their lips met again, working furiously together, moving seamlessly. He wouldn't let her work on his shirt buttons. He did them himself, and he did them slowly. Finally, frustrated, she tore his shirt open, popping several buttons. He smiled into their kiss. She forced his arms through the sleeves impatiently.

Finally, both of them were pressed skin-to-skin. He reached around her back to the clip on her bra. She reached back to help him, thinking he couldn't possibly undo it one-handed, when it came undone with a soft click. Her bra slackened and she shrugged out of it, letting it join the rest of their clothes on the floor. Gilbert let his fingers trail along the skin of her back, reaching her newly-exposed chest slowly. Well, he might be satisfied with just that for now, but she wasn't.

Her fingers dug into the waistband of his boxers and pulled. They joined her bra on the ground. His fingers slid down her waist and finally settled on the thin string of her thong. She could feel the surprise in his fingers as he worked it off. She never wore thongs before.

That didn't speed anything up. As the last thing separating them, he took his sweet time, sliding down one side, then the other. She squirmed, impatient, but let him finish. Finally, she kicked the stupid thing to the floor. At last, they were freed of clothing. Elizabeta waited, fingers digging into the skin of his back, but, like with everything else, Gilbert took his god-damn time.


	17. The Truth Usually isn't as Pretty as You

"I told you not to move too much."

"They aren't watching us now, are they?" Ludwig pointed out. "Besides, I'm not worried."

"Come on, man, this isn't some old couple with a cane, I think I broke a rib or two."

Ludwig pulled at the loose crate Alfred had checked earlier. "Firstly, it wasn't a cane."

"I'm just saying." Alfred argued. "It's not cool. And if they catch you looking in the boxes, they'll hit you for sure."

Ludwig shrugged and pulled open the box. He raised his eyebrows.

Alfred shuffled closer. "Yeah. Kinda freaky, right?"

The rifles glinted in the moonlight. Ludwig reached into the box curiously.

"Hey, wait, what are you doing?" Alfred said, panicking.

"Relax." Ludwig said. He picked up the gun and did something Alfred couldn't see in the dark. He heard a sharp clicking sound.

"What'd you do?" Alfred asked, still trying not to panic.

"I'm checking to see if they're loaded." he slid it together again. "No. Damn."

"I dunno about you, but I think I'm cool with a bunch of boxes of guns not having anything in them."

"Might have been a nice way to escape, though." Ludwig set the gun back inside.

"You know how to work these?"

"I took a few lessons a while back. It's been a while though." Ludwig sealed the box again.

"Yeah, Dad taught me to use guns, but that was just handguns and stuff. Nothing like this." Alfred shook his head. "I don't even want to know what they're using these for."

"All things considered, nothing good." Ludwig said. Alfred caught sight of his arm.

"Hey, you've got letters too!" Alfred pointed out. He held up his own wrist for examination. "What's it mean, though? That's not English, is it?"

Ludwig looked at his own wrist curiously. "I think it's German."

"Oh, really?" Alfred hadn't thought of that. "So what's it say?"

Ludwig frowned at his arm and then grabbed Alfred's arm, holding it up in the light.

Alfred stared at it too. "So? Is it German? What's it mean?"

Ludwig let go of his arm. "Mine, I think, says 'whole'. As in, the whole thing."

"And mine?" Alfred asked eagerly. "What's mine say?"

Ludwig paused. "Parts."

* * *

Matt looked curiously around the police station.

"So...this is where they keep the files on all the criminals they catch?" he asked.

"Pretty much." Dad set another folder on the cabinet Matt was sitting on. "Any criminal activity is recorded down here. We're lucky they've been so good about their paperwork here. Some towns barely bother."

Arthur scanned one of the folders. "What are you looking for?"

"Just some information on the people we're looking for."

"But, what exactly?" Arthur gave up on the file and set it down again.

"I'm not sure, to be honest." Dad shoved the drawer back into place and tried another. "This is horribly organized."

Matt felt kind of useless. He jumped off the cabinet and turned to one they hadn't gotten to yet, pulling it open. He had no idea what he was looking for. None at all. From the looks of things, the drawer he'd opened was full of 'E' files. He scanned through the names, wondering if something might just jump out at him and reveal Alfred and Ludwig's kidnapper. Something caught his eye.

'Edelstein, Roderich VI'.

He pulled it out curiously and glanced over his shoulder at Dad and Arthur. This was so wrong. This was so illegal.

"Matt, come on, we're going upstairs." Dad called.

"I'll be there in a minute." Matt said hurriedly, still staring at the folder. So illegal.

He flipped it open.

* * *

"So where is 'The Emperor'?" Ludwig asked.

Alfred was still frowning at his arm.

"Alfred."

He looked up. "Oh, right. He left. I don't know where he went."

"Why?"

"I dunno." Alfred shrugged. "What do you mean, 'parts'?"

"I already told you, I don't know." Ludwig sighed. "But that's what it says."

Alfred shifted his wrists under the handcuffs. They were starting to chafe.

"All these boxes say 'meat'."

"What?" Alfred looked up finally.

"The ones in German. They say meat too." Germany pointed them out with his own cuffed hands. "And I don't read Russian but that's probably what it says."

"Ohhh is that what that is?" Alfred looked at the bizarre scribbling again. "They have weird letters."

"That's because they use the Cyrillic alphabet."

"What's that?"

"The alphabet system the Russian language uses. And a few others, if I'm not mistaken..." Ludwig was still looking at the boxes. It seemed like he was answering Alfred out of habit.

"Why do you know all this stuff?"

"I take European history classes."

"Why?"

Ludwig just shook his head at Alfred. "What's in these other boxes?"

"I don't know. Probably the same thing." Alfred shrugged.

Ludwig examined another broken crate. "If we're lucky, there's bullets somewhere in here."

Alfred shuddered. "Hey, maybe you can handle those things, but I can't."

"That's all that matters." Ludwig opened the box and raised his eyebrows.

"What? Is it bullets?" Alfred shuffled closer. "What is that?"

"Pills. Prescription medication." Ludwig pulled one of the opaque brown bottles out and held it up to the light. "There's no name on them."

Alfred picked up another curiously. Ludwig was right, there was just a blank empty space where the patient's name ought to be. "They must have ordered them through the hospital. That's a lot of covering up."

Ludwig nodded slowly. "What's in here…? It's not narcotics. It's just…prescriptions."

"Weird." Alfred dropped the bottle again, uninterested.

Ludwig kept digging through the box. "There's some pills Gilbert's on in here."

"You're not gonna steal them or something, are you?" Alfred asked, sitting back down.

"Of course not." Ludwig sealed dropped the lid back down, but Alfred thought he looked disappointed. "They're expensive, though."

* * *

Elizabeta stared at the showerhead.

She was many things. Annoying, yes. Excitable? Invasive? Frustrating? All yes.

But she wasn't a cheater.

But here she was. In Gilbert's shower. Washing the feel of him off her skin. Washing the memory of him away. She scrubbed furiously at her hair, ignoring the shampoo that burned her eyes.

She wished she could say he'd just surprised her. She wished she could pretend it had been fast and passionate and it had happened before she could even think. But that wasn't true. She'd made the decision, she'd seen her ring, she'd known what she'd been doing. The whole time, she'd known.

She rubbed her arms with her bare hands, lost in thought. Why? Why had done it? She…well there was no beating around the bush now. She'd slept with Gilbert. She'd passionately torn his shirt off and let him shove his-

She abruptly turned the water off, tired of being alone with her thoughts. But the moment she left the bathroom she was only going to be alone with Gilbert, and was that any better? She dried her hair with a towel and used Gilbert's broken comb to pull the tangled knots out of it. The comb was so beaten down it almost seemed pointless to try and use it. But using Ludwig's seemed wrong, somehow. She finally just gave up and wrapped the towel firmly around her chest. She regretted leaving her clothes on the floor, but there was no helping that now.

She opened the door cautiously. Was Gilbert still asleep or…

Whatever he was, he wasn't on the couch. She quickly grabbed her clothes and darted back into the bathroom to change. Relieved that there was now a field of defense between her and Gilbert, at least where it mattered, she left the bathroom.

It was quiet. She debated calling for him but decided against it. Maybe she should go now. But that wasn't really fair to Gilbert, he did need someone here to take care of him…Maybe she could call Al…fred. She sighed. Maybe she should just find her keys and get the hell out of here. Someone must be willing to watch Gilbert…Antonio or Francis? Not that she trusted either of them very much, but desperate times did call for desperate measures… She crossed the room, hunting for her keys.

Something metallic glimmered from the floor and she darted for it eagerly.

Not her keys. Her engagement ring. That Gilbert had torn off her finger. She slid it back on and glanced in the kitchen without much hope, still looking for her keys.

Gilbert was sitting on the counter, playing with something in his hands. He'd at least put a pair of pants on, even if he still didn't have a shirt.

"I assume you're looking for these." He spun the keys on his finger, like he used to with his motorcycle keys. He was a bit clumsier now but the effect was the same.

Elizabeta watched him silently. He stared determinedly at the floor.

"You know, I could tell you were going to break up with me about a month before. I was just waiting for it to happen. I suppose I could have kept my dignity and broken it off myself, but I kept telling myself I could make you love me again." he said, still looking down at the keys in his hands. "I had a crush on you freshman year, you know that? Back when you dressed like a boy. I always figured you were just too far out of my league."

Elizabeta bit her lip. This was exactly what she didn't want.

"Maybe you were. Maybe it was just a glitch that I somehow got two years with you. I'll be honest, they were the best two years of my life. You know everything now, you know that's the truth. I felt like a god-damned human being again. Like maybe there was more to life than just surviving the worst, you know? No, you probably don't. You get whatever you want. I could never resist giving you what you wanted."

He sighed. "If he's what you want, Elizabeta…" He threw the keys at her and she caught them. "Go home. I'm sure he's waiting for you. Tell him. Don't. I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Gilbert…" Elizabeta tried, but her voice failed her. She wanted to say that she still cared about him, that she was so sorry she'd hurt him, that none of this was fair.

Instead she turned and left the apartment. Outside, once the door was shut, she wiped furiously at the tears starting to leak down her cheeks and tore down the stairs, thinking that maybe if she put more space between herself and Gilbert, she could stop thinking about him. She still cared about him, she always would, but she didn't love him. There was a difference.

She kept telling herself that as she forcibly turned the key in the ignition of her car and slammed her foot on the gas.

* * *

Gilbert stared at the floor. Right now, Alfred would probably make him feel better with some ridiculous joke and then go egg Elizabeta's apartment somehow. Alfred would find a way to egg a single apartment.

Ludwig would just tell that it didn't matter and then do something stupid like make him coffee. Because that would solve everything. He'd never thought he'd miss Ludwig's awkwardness around personal matters so much.

It just wasn't…fair. It wasn't fucking fair. Elizabeta got to drive off and run into Roderich's arms and pretend nothing had happened and Gilbert got to sit alone in a dark apartment. He rubbed his sore head, wondering where the word 'fair' fit into his life at all.

He still loved her. He could never stop loving her. How could he? She was perfect, she was fucking perfect, and that was why she couldn't love him back. Nothing that beautiful could stay in his life, could stand to be near something as beaten and broken as him.

Something dripped off his chin and he blinked, wiping the moisture away from his eye in surprise. He was crying?

But, then, he was sobbing, uncontrollably. There was no one around to hide from. There was no one to look strong for. There was no one to appreciate his façade, no one to care. And now Ludwig was probably going to be cut up for spare parts. And Alfred too, just to make it better.

* * *

"Matt! Where are you?"

"Sorry! I…I dropped my glasses somewhere! I'll be up in a minute, don't wait up, okay?" Matt called hurriedly. There was a muted conversation at the top of the stairs and then someone came down them, muttering to themselves.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Matt said hurriedly, making to shove the file back into place. So, so illegal… "Just, uh..here they are-oh it's you."

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked.

Matt debated for a moment. "Reading Roderich's files."

"They have Roderich's files here?"

"Apparently."

Arthur came to stand next to him. "That's weird."

"This is his grandfather's file."

"His grandfather has a file?"

"I think. He's Roderich the eighth, right? This is Roderich the sixth. That makes it his grandfather, doesn't it?." Matt looked at it sadly. "We really shouldn't open it."

Arthur took the file from him. "You're right. It is." He flipped it open. "Good thing I'm not an American citizen."

"I don't think it works like that-!" Matt said quickly. Arthur hushed him.

"Check this out…look at all these DUIs and speeding tickets! He's been arrested like twenty times!"

"For what?" Matt asked, amazed.

"Let's see…he's been a suspect for murder? Three times!" Arthur said. "Look! Human trafficking, transporting dead bodies, grave robbing, attempted homicide… none of these stuck! He got away without a single day in prison!"

"Alfred said they're loaded. They probably have a mountain of lawyers waiting in the wings."

"But all these charges…there's no way he's completely innocent! I mean…this…Okay American justice systems don't work the same way as back home, but is this still suspicious?"

"Of course it is." Matt said quietly. "What do you think he's done?"

"Something pretty damn bad." Arthur said. "I mean…that mafia thing you said earlier really doesn't sound all that off right now."

Matt nodded. "Arthur…this...the way Dad talked about it, the people holding Alfred and Ludwig are…are some kind of gang or..or something. And…maybe it's watching too much TV with Alfred, but…doesn't this sound like the kind of person that might be in charge of that?"

Arthur frowned. "There's no guarantee…I mean none of the charges stuck, he's still an innocent man in the eyes of the law…"

"But…Roderich said they were really, really rich, but he never said…where they got that money." Matt said.

"Okay, say it is. How do we casually bring this up?" Arthur said, still flipping through the file. "What we're doing right now is very illegal. I'm sure your Dad would remind us of that quite harshly."

"But it might save Alfred's life!" Matt insisted. "I don't care! We have to show him this!"

Arthur frowned. "I guess, but I….wait a minute."

"What?" Matt scanned the page he was reading. He didn't see anything odd.

"One of these charges finally stuck."

"For what?"

"Manslaughter…" Arthur said. His eyes widened. "Vehicular manslaughter."

"Who was it?"

"Doesn't say much…hang on, there's a clipping from the paper." He pulled it free. "…blah blah blah, sad, sad…okay, here…'a young couple, driving home on the freeway, hit in a head-on collision…both died on impact…' …more sob story…and-oh my God."

"What?" Matt demanded, struggling to read the paper in such low light. Did Arthur have night vision? "What?"

"Listen to this.. 'The victims were the late Lily and Gilbert Beilschmidt,'" Arthur read. "'both aged thirty-seven. They have two young boys, neither of which were in the car at the time. They are currently in foster care.'"

Matt stared at him. Arthur looked up from the file to stare back.

"This bloody country is insane."

"Are you sure you read that right?"

"I…look!" Arthur pushed the file at him. "There's even a picture of them! Look at their Dad, he looks just like Ludwig!"

Matt squinted at the miniscule black-and-white photograph. "He does…"

Matt looked up again.

"…what do we do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well do we tell them?" Matt demanded. "We can't just keep this to ourselves...We found out who murdered their parents-"

"We can't tell them Roderich's grandfather plowed into them on the freeway! Gilbert'll kill Roderich!" Arthur said.

"It's not Roderich's fault-"

"Yeah, I'm sure that's how Gilbert'll see it."

Matt chewed his lip. "You're right."

"We keep this quiet. They've gone this long without knowing, they'll go a little longer." Arthur said. "There's no need to tell anyone."

"Arthur, I'm not good at keeping secrets." Matt said.

"I know." Arthur said dryly, probably thinking back to the hundreds of times Matt's loose tongue had gotten them in trouble. "But you are now."

"But-"

"Once this whole kidnapping thing is over and done with, we'll tell them, okay?" Arthur said, grabbing Matt's shoulders. "Until then you keep your mouth shut, got it?"

"But-"

"Just wait until Alfred's safe!" Arthur said angrily. "And Ludwig." He added. "You know what Gilbert's going through right now, do you really want to add to it with something stupid like this?"

"But-"

"They're dead, okay? Telling him isn't going to bring them back to life!"

Matt bit his lip again and nodded.

"Okay. Good." Arthur let go of him.

"We're still going to give Dad the file, right?"

Arthur sighed.

* * *

"Are you...sure?" Alfred asked, staring at his wrist.

"Positive."

"But…what's it mean?" Alfred asked. "'Parts'? I…and yours says 'whole', what…what does that mean?"

Ludwig shrugged and sat back against the wall. "How should I know?"

"Does it mean anything different in German?"

"Not at all."

Alfred looked anxiously at the boxes. The boxes labeled meat. He looked at his wrist, then at the boxes, then at his wrist.

"They're gonna cut me up!" Alfred blurted out finally. Ludwig winced.

"There's no-"

"Oh my God, I'm gonna die down here!" Alfred said, panicking. He pulled at his hair. "Oh my God, oh my God…This is the black market! How did I not see it before? Oh my God, oh God, oh God, oh God…"

"Alfred, calm down!" Ludwig told him.

"Easy for you to say!" Alfred said, pointing a finger wildly in his direction. "You're not gonna be cut up! They're probably gonna ransom you off or something! Oh God…Oh God…"

"Why would they-"

"Your grandparents!" Alfred insisted. "He told me himself! He said he wanted both of you to ransom to your grandparents! He said I didn't have a penny to my name…So he's going to sell my body parts instead!"

Ludwig opened his mouth but he apparently couldn't think of any way to reason around Alfred's realization.

"I'm gonna fucking die…" Alfred said miserably, curling in on himself and pressing his bound hands to his eyes.

"Your Dad's looking for you." Ludwig said suddenly. Alfred looked up.

"What?"

"Matt called him. He's driving Arthur crazy." Ludwig stifled a yawn with some difficulty. "He'll find you."

Alfred chewed his lip. "He came here?"

"He was in the bar, last I saw him."

"He actually came down to look for me?" Alfred asked.

"He's looking for you right now." Ludwig told him.

"Not that it'll make a difference."

They both turned to look at the opening door. The Emperor smiled.

"Good to see you again." Alfred said, trying to sound braver than he felt. "How was your vacation?"

"Very relaxing, thank you." The Emperor said. "And now we have a new guest. Are my friends treating you well, Ludwig?"

Ludwig only glared at him.

"Ah, such a shame, such a shame, I really wanted the set…Oh well, you'll do."

"Where is he?" Ludwig demanded. "What'd you do with Gilbert?"

The Emperor was examining his fingernails.

"The other Beilschmidt? He's dead. Quite unfortunate." The Emperor picked something out of his fingernail. "At least you know he didn't suffer much. My colleagues tell me it couldn't have taken longer than an hour or two for him to bleed out."

"You…what?" Ludwig asked. "Gilbert….no. You're lying. I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want." The Emperor shrugged. "It's no interest of mine. He didn't fetch a very high price anyway. Damaged goods, you know... Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

He turned and left. Alfred stared at the door after him, mind reeling. "Gilbert…Gilbert is dead?" Alfred asked.

"He's not. He can't be." Ludwig insisted. "He can't die, he's…he's Gilbert."

"They…they shot him and cut him up." Alfred said, starting to get hysterical. "They cut him up and shipped him around the country! They-"

"SHUT UP!" Ludwig roared. "No they didn't! They're liars, they're just trying to…to scare us. It won't work!"

Alfred was shaking. "We're all gonna fucking die…" He buried his face behind his knees. He heard Ludwig stumble to his feet unsteadily and march across the room.

"Get back in here, you fucker! Come tell the god-damn truth!" Ludwig shouted through the door. Alfred looked up to watch him beat it furiously with his hands. "Coward!"

"Gilbert's dead." Alfred said, as if saying it would make it less true.

"No he isn't!"

"He's dead."

"Stop saying that!" Ludwig turned on Alfred instead. "Shut up! Just shut up! You might have decided to die down here but I haven't! There's a way out and I'll find it!"

Tears were leaking from Alfred's eyes. "Gilbert's dead!"

Ludwig ignored him and turned to the stacked boxes around them. There was a horrible crunching noise.

"What are you doing?"

"There's fucking ammo in one of these boxes!" Ludwig said furiously. "I'm finding it!"

He pulled his foot up again and brought it down on a box. It splintered open and Ludwig yelped.

"What?" Alfred asked, trying to keep the terror out of his voice. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

Ludwig didn't say anything. He was looking down at the ground with wide eyes, frozen in place. Alfred pushed himself up to see what had Ludwig so shocked. He squinted at the broken crate through his dirty glasses. Ludwig's leg was covered with…with blood, but it wasn't…wasn't from him, it was…"

"Is that…blood?"

Ludwig nodded, eyes fixed on the mess on the floor.

"And it's not yours?"

Ludwig shook his head.

"I thought not."

Alfred turned around and vomited.


	18. He's More Trouble Than He's Worth

"Matt, you know better than this."

Matt stared at his feet. "I know. I'm sorry, Dad."

"I thought I raised you better than to break the law just because you can."

"You did." Matt mumbled.

"Just open the stupid file." Arthur said.

Dad opened his mouth but Arthur cut him off.

"Oh enough, I know you blame me for it anyway. It's all my fault, yes. And I hope Alfred gets cut apart and shipped off to Brazil. Open the fucking file."

Dad scowled at him and then flipped open the worn folder. "What am I looking at?"

"The charges. The ones that didn't stick." Arthur said. "That's not suspicious to you? The more recent ones are in this area, too."

"Well of course they are, that's why the file's here." Dad flipped through it. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Isn't it worth looking into?"

"And how do you propose we do that? Just knock on his door?" Dad asked.

"We could…we could talk to Roderich." Matt said quietly.

"I doubt he would talk. Even if he isn't involved in the family business, they've probably got his mouth sealed. You're not going to get anything out of him." Dad said. "I can bring this up with the police. That's all you can really hope for."

Matt nodded. He glanced at the clock on the wall.

"I have a shift at the bar tonight...is it okay if I go home and shower?" Matt asked tentatively.

"If you must." Dad said, turning back to his other files. Matt nodded and turned to go.

"Are you going to stay here, Arthur?"

"Probably." Arthur said, though he looked completely disgusted by the thought. "I'll come down to the bar later and tell you if we've made any progress."

Matt nodded again.

* * *

Alfred was curled in the corner, trying to pretend none of this was happening. It wasn't. None of this was real. He was dreaming.

His ribs weren't broken. Gilbert wasn't dead. There wasn't a pool of blood on the floor. Alfred chewed his knuckle to keep from sobbing. None of it was true.

He knew it probably wasn't what he was thinking. He knew no one had touched the boxes since he'd been in this room. But he couldn't help but think that it was Gilbert's blood on the ground.

He shook his head, trying to put an end to that thought. It was impossible, he reminded himself. It simply wasn't possible.

But in his mind it was.

Ludwig had put as much space between himself and the blood as possible. He was on the other side of the room, too far for Alfred too see with his smudged glasses. He thought he heard a sob, but it was possible it had come from him.

He was already horrified at the thought of Gilbert cut apart. He tried to imagine if it had been Matt and immediately shut down that thought. He simply couldn't handle it. He felt a wave a pity for Ludwig.

And his shoulder still fucking hurt.

* * *

Matt dried his hair half-heartedly with a towel. He threw it on the bed and looked over at Alfred's unmade mess on the other side of the room.

"He'll be fine." he said to the empty room. "He'll be back and getting on my nerves before I know it."

His phone rang and he dove for his abandoned jeans on the ground. Was it news about Alfred? Had the found him? Was there a lead?

It was Gilbert. Matt paused, surprised, before opening the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey…Matt." Gilbert said. He sounded absolutely horrible. Matt wondered if he'd even been eating. He tended not to when Ludwig wasn't around.

"Hey, Gilbert. How...How're you holding up?"

"I'd say good but I'm pretty sure you'd know I was lying." he said, giving an unconvincing laugh. "I guess they haven't found anything yet, huh?"

"Nothing, sorry." Matt said, pulling a clean pair of boxers on. "You know I said I'd call if we heard anything."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Gilbert said thickly. "Hey, can you give me a ride to the bar? I know you're working tonight…"

"Yeah, sure." Matt said, switching hands so he could get his shirt on. "I'm leaving in about half an hour. I'll swing by and pick you up."

"Thanks, man." Gilbert said. He sighed. Or maybe it was a groan. It was hard to tell over the phone.

"We'll find them."

"I know."

"They'll be okay."

"I know, I just…keep thinking about what your dad said. About chop shops and all that."

Matt swallowed. "Yeah. I know what you mean. But they'll find them."

"Yeah." Gilbert said. "I'll see you in half an hour, or whatever."

"See you, Gilbert."

* * *

They were both silent. Matt focused on the road, because it meant he didn't have to think about anything else.

"Have you eaten?" Matt asked.

Gilbert shrugged. "Last night…ish."

It was almost eight at night. Matt sighed.

"I thought Elizabeta was supposed to keep an eye on you."

"Yeah, well, Elizabeta's got bigger concerns." Gilbert said. Matt glanced at him again.

"You slept with her."

"Wha-"

"Don't even try and hide it. My brother is a whore." Matt said.

Gilbert was quiet for a minute.

"You're a lot better at reading people than Fred."

"I've been told."

There was a lull in the conversation again.

"What was it like? When no one knew where I was?"

Matt chewed his tongue for a moment. "It was only for, you know, a few hours. There was a lot of panic mostly. And then everyone was really determined to be happy."

"Determined to be happy or happy?"

"Trust me Gilbert. No one was celebrating you being missing." Matt sighed.

More silence.

"We'll find them."

"Do you think that or are you determined to think that?"

Matt's hands tightened on the wheel.

"Both."

* * *

"You don't have to guide me anywhere, you know. I'm not blind."

"I don't really trust you not to run into anything."

"Let me reiterate: I can see."

"Let _me_ reiterate: I don't trust you not to run into anything _on purpose_."

"You think I run into things for the sheer joy of it?"

Matt scoffed. "You say that like it's such a ridiculous thought."

Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, if I let something happen to you I'm fairly certain both Alfred and Ludwig would kick my ass. Have you ever had your ass handed to you by two people at once?"

"Yes, actually."

"So have I. And I'm not keen on doing it again." Matt said. "Sit."

Gilbert fell into the barstool Matt set him in. He dug under the counter for a moment and pulled up a soda.

"You will drink this. You will drink all of it. And you will not argue with me."

Gilbert snatched the can and popped the top of it easily. "Would you like to spoon-feed it to me?"

"Shut up." Matt snapped. He went into the back to shove several dozen onion rings into the oven. While they cooked, he poked around the freezer. Half the things had freezer burn. The other half were slowly developing it.

After three minutes the oven let out a weary ding and Matt pulled the steaming onion rings out.

"Eat." He dropped the paper basket in front of his new charge. Gilbert picked up one and shoved it his mouth.

"Happy?" he asked around his mouthful of onion ring.

"Very." Matt said, reaching under the counter to pour himself a drink. "And this. This is on Roderich."

"Cheers to that." Gilbert said, holding up his can.

Matt bumped his glass against it and then swallowed the drink quickly. He wiped his mouth with a satisfied grunt and poured himself a second glass.

"Never took you for a tequila man."

"Oh, is that what this is?" Matt asked, looking at the label. He shrugged and upended the glass. Gilbert chuckled.

"Is it at least the expensive stuff?"

Matt ran his tongue around his mouth. "Yeah. Tastes like it."

"It's on good ol' Roddy, isn't it?" Gilbert said, throwing another onion ring in his mouth. "I'm sure he doesn't mind."

Matt tried to grin but his mind was suddenly somewhere else. He watched Gilbert chew his onion rings uninterestedly, thinking. Exactly how much would it mean to him to know who had killed his parents? Matt thought about that. What if someone had told him who had kidnapped Alfred? Wouldn't he want to know?

Well, yes, but that was because he wanted Alfred back. But would it make it any easier, to know?

Matt chewed his lip.

"What's eating you?" Gilbert asked.

"How much do you know about how your parents died?" he blurted out. Gilbert, to his credit, didn't seem quite as startled as Matt would have expected.

He glanced at Matt and then turned his attention back to the onion rings.

"They got plowed by a car doing eighty on the wrong side of the freeway. Never really looked into it past that." He bit an onion ring in half and the onion slid out of the breading. "Are you just morbidly curious or trying to figure out how you'll deal with Alfred's death?"

"Alfred isn't going to die!" Matt snapped.

Gilbert shrugged. "You don't see it coming. One minute they're here and then the next…all you can think about is all the little things you regret. You guys ever patch things up with your dad?"

Matt frowned.

"You'd be surprised how much that nags at you." Gilbert said, taking a swig of soda. "You think you're right, now. I get it, I know. Tomorrow you'll wake up and he's dead and suddenly the whole thing seems like the stupidest argument ever."

"It's not stupid. It's Dad rejecting who Alfred is." Matt said sternly.

Gilbert shrugged. "I'm just telling you what it's like to lose someone. You think I'm not terrified right now? Ludwig's my little brother. It's my job to protect him, it's always been my job. I was right _there_ and…I let him down." Gilbert angrily swallowed the rest of the onion ring in his hand without much chewing. "But, hey that's life. And death. You wanna pour me a glass of that, Matt?"

"What about your meds?" Matt asked.

"Fuck the meds, I'll stop taking them. I just need some alcohol." Gilbert said, reaching for the bottle himself. Matt pulled it away from him.

"Drink your soda, Gilbert. My job is to keep you alive until Ludwig gets back. Don't make that harder for me." Matt said.

Gilbert sighed and finished off the can.

* * *

"You can sleep in Alfred's bed." Matt yawned. "He won't mind. Hell, he'll probably be pleased."

Gilbert chuckled and sat down at the end of Alfred's bed. He dropped his bag between his feet, staring absently at the wall.

"You have your pills and stuff?"

"'s all in the bag."

"You know what to take?"

"'ve got a chart."

"When's the next dose?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Matt sighed and pulled open his dresser.

"You got anything to sleep in?"

"No."

"You wanna borrow something of Alfred's?"

"If it doesn't bother you."

"Of course not." Matt pulled one of Alfred's rattier t-shirts out and a pair of sweatpants and threw them at Gilbert. He caught them clumsily. "Go change in the bathroom. And then get some sleep."

"Yeah." Gilbert said, not moving. Matt dug out his own pajamas and shut the drawer.

"Those clothes aren't going to put themselves on…"

Gilbert stared at the ground. "Yeah. I know."

Matt sighed again and sat down on the bed next to Gilbert.

"They'll be okay."

"I know."

"Dad's really good at what he does. And…and we found some good stuff today. We'll find them." Matt said, but he was trying to convince himself as much as Gilbert.

Gilbert wiped furiously at his eyes. "I know, damn it, I know!"

Matt hesitantly put his hand on Gilbert's shoulder.

"I keep thinking about that stuff…about…them cut up. Sold for parts. Do you think they kill them first, or…or just pull them apart, piece by piece, until.."

The thought made Matt wince. "I don't know."

"I just…I keep thinking…if things had gone a little differently…it might be me." Gilbert said. "And then I wish it was."

"If I'd taken the late shift-"

"If I'd been behind him-"

"If I'd gone looking sooner-"

"If I'd fought harder-"

Suddenly they were both sobbing on each other's shoulders.

"What if they're hurting them?"

"What if they're being tortured?"

"What if they're already dead?"

"What if we're next?"

Matt had never felt particularly close to Gilbert, beyond him being Alfred's good friend, but right now he was relieved it was Gilbert here crying with him instead of anyone else. Because Gilbert understood why what was happening was the worst possible situation the way no one else would.

Matt cried himself out and prayed their brothers would come home in one piece.

* * *

"Get up."

Alfred blinked in the light. The smell of blood and vomit made him gag and he wondered if he was going to throw up again. He swallowed thickly and pushed himself up.

"Get up!" The Emperor shouted. He wasn't talking to Alfred. He was standing over Ludwig.

"Wha-"

"Listen you little homeless scum, _you_ might not have very much respect for your belongings but I _will not_," He grabbed Ludwig's collar and jerked him upright. "put up with someone destroying my merchandise."

"Your stolen merchandise." Ludwig said angrily. "Whose blood is that? Some poor bastard who looked at you wrong? Someone who was just in the way like my brother?"

The Emperor slammed Ludwig's head against the wall. "You. You're too cocky for my liking. Ivan's efforts were wasted on Jones, you're clearly the trouble-maker here."

"What's he going to do about it?" Ludwig asked coldly. "I'm not afraid of him."

"This isn't a little disagreement on the playground, Mr. Beilschmidt." The Emperor hissed. "You don't have much respect for you elders, do you? We'll have to fix that."

He dropped Ludwig to the ground.

"Ivan!" he called over his shoulder. Ivan appeared in the doorway.

"Da, Sir?"

"Please give Mr. Beilschmidt a very _warm_ welcome, will you?" The Emperor said. "I don't believe he's seen the Cooler yet. Will you show him around?"

Ivan smiled eerily. "Da, Sir, of course. I will be happy to."

"And don't hold back, dear." The Emperor said, patting Ivan on the arm as he left. "That blood was quite expensive."

"Of course, Sir." Ivan told him. He crossed the room and pulled Ludwig up by the collar.

"Come with me, friend."

"Get your fucking hands _off_ me!" Ludwig said, but Ivan was much bigger than him and pulled him across the room without a problem.

Alfred watched, terrified. They couldn't do this…he couldn't let them…but what could he do? Getting in the way would only mean both of them would be on the other end of Ivan's twisted lessons.

But what kind of hero just sat in the corner?

"Stop, stop, you can't j...just..." Alfred scrambled to his feet. "Ivan! Please, don't…!"

Ivan just laughed.

"No worries, pet." he chuckled. "You're next."

Alfred faltered and Ivan pulled Ludwig from the room. The door swung shut behind them.

* * *

Last day of midterms. Matt pulled his jacket on and glanced across the room.

"I'll be back at noon. Try not to kill yourself before then."

"You sound exactly like Ludwig." Gilbert said miserably from under Alfred's pillow.

"And then we'll go the bar and drink ourselves into oblivion."

"That's better."

Matt sighed and pulled open the door. It was freezing outside. He pulled his jacket closer and pulled out his keys. Something occurred to him and he grabbed something from the coffee table.

"Those are yours." he said, tossing Gilbert's keys onto Alfred's bed. Gilbert mumbled something that sounded like a thanks and then began to snore. Matt shook his head at made sure to lock the door behind him.

* * *

"Are you okay?"

"Don't talk to me."

"Is this about your final or Alfred?"

"My final."

"Oh, okay." Gilbert bit into another onion ring and watched Matt curiously. He had his forehead pressed to the bar and had thus-far refused to move. "So what'd you fail?"

"Math."

"Ouch."

"I hate math. I hate it so much. I know I failed that test. I just know it. I shouldn't even go back to that class. I'm never going to pass."

"At least now you have something else to think about." Gilbert pointed out, breaking an onion ring in half. The onion refused to break and connected the two pieces limply.

"Shut up." Matt finally picked his head up off the counter.

"Were you just crying?"

"No!" Matt said angrily, rubbing his eyes. "I just cleaned the bar. I got fumes in my eyes."

"Sure." Gilbert said, eating the broken onion ring in his hand. Matt grumbled something and scrubbed at the counter.

"Hey Matt."

Matt looked up from his furious cleaning. "Oh. Hey Elizabeta."

"How's everything going? Have they found anything yet?"

Matt shrugged. "Not much. They're…they're working on it though."

"They'll find them." Elizabeta said. Gilbert swirled his soda, trying his best to ignore her. So far it wasn't going so well.

"Hey, you know there's a limo outside?"

"What?" Matt asked.

"Yeah. Just pulled up. Looks real nice." Elizabeta said.

"To the _bar_?"

"Looked that way."

Gilbert looked over his shoulder out the window. It was hard to see, but it did sort of look like there were people gathered at the curb… Matt ducked under the counter to join them. Gilbert followed.

Elizabeta was right. Gilbert squinted through the windows at the huge black limousine. There was something on the ends of it…were those flags? But…what..

Gilbert suddenly pushed open the door. No way. No fucking way.

The driver's door opened and a haggard-looking man ran around the car. He paused, readjusted his suit jacket, which had gone askew in his hurry, and pulled open the door.

Immediately, several murmurs started up in the crowd. Gilbert ignored them. It was hard to hear over the ringing in his ears. The man that stepped out brushed himself off as if the very air around him were contaminated, completely ignoring the quiet servant that shut his door behind him.

Gilbert stared at him in utter shock for a few seconds before his vocal cords took the initiative he wouldn't.

"G…Granddad?"


	19. Generation by Generation

Matt looked from Gilbert to the man that had just exited the limo and then back to Gilbert, who looked like he'd just been punched in the face.

_Granddad?_ This was Gilbert's grandfather? The one from Germany? The one he'd shouted obscenities at on their last meeting?

"Oh. Gilbert. Good, I vas vorried I vouldn't be able to find you." The man spoke with an almost impenetrable German accent.

"I'm…in the phonebook…What are you doing here?" Gilbert asked, still dumbstruck.

"A rather unexpected visit from an old friend…" Gilbert's grandfather looked curiously at the surrounding crowd.

"I…uh…"

Matt finally decided that Gilbert would probably function better if he wasn't currently on display.

"Okay, guys, bar is closing early tonight!" he shouted at the crowd. "Go home! Or to another bar, I don't care. Off you go! Gilbert, you wanna come inside?"

"Um. Yeah. That sounds… What?"

Matt rolled his eyes and gently pulled Gilbert back into the emptying bar. His grandfather followed them.

"Come on guys, bar is _closed_." He turned to Elizabeta. "That includes you."

"Wha-Matt I'm your friend!" Elizabeta couldn't keep herself from glancing at Gilbert's grandfather even as Matt pushed her from the bar.

"Who stays in is completely up to Gilbert." Matt said. "If he says it's okay, then you can stay."

Elizabeta looked sadly at Gilbert and then at the floor.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Matt said, guiding her out the door. "Goodbye, Elizabeta."

"You'll tell me what-!"

"Night." Matt shut the door. With the bar sufficiently emptied, he locked the front door and turned back to the awkward scene behind him, pulling the blinds so curious stragglers (and Elizabeta) wouldn't be tempted.

Gilbert was still looking at his grandfather as if he expected him to suddenly burst into flames at him at any given moment.

"Can I…uh…get you something?" Matt asked tentatively.

"Hmm? Oh, no I am fine." Gilbert's grandfather said.

"Gilbert?"

"Huh?"

"You want something?"

Gilbert paused for a moment. "Can I get a drink, Matt?" he asked desperately. "Just…one?"

Matt sighed and ducked back under the bar. "_One_."

"You're the greatest, Matt."

Matt distractedly poured the drink, watching Gilbert and his grandfather awkwardly not say anything to each other for several minutes.

Finally, Gilbert's grandfather broke the silence.

"Vhat did you do to your…arm?" he asked. Gilbert glanced down at it.

"Crashed my bike."

"I told you you vould hurt yourself-"

"I got thrown into a tree by a massive car. My driving skills are not up for investigation here."

"Did they find the man who did it?"

Gilbert scowled. "No."

"Vell, then, how do you-"

"I just do, okay?" Gilbert snapped. Matt handed him his drink and he took a massive gulp of it. "Why the fuck are you here, anyway?"

"About two days ago I was visited by an old friend who informed me that my grandson was in his….custody." Gilbert's grandfather said.

"Old friend?" Gilbert asked sharply.

"A man I used to know and vork with." he elaborated.

Gilbert snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Are you implying that I vas involved-"

"Yeah, I fucking am!" Gilbert shouted furiously. "What the fuck would you care?"

"Vhy would I come all this vay if I only intended to see my grandson divided and sold?" Gilbert's grandfather shouted back.

Gilbert faltered. "So..that is what they're planning."

"Don't be stupid. He is much more valuable alive."

"And why is that?"

"Because his name has money attached to it. As does yours."

"Your money."

"That changes nothing. Both of you are very…valuable."

"Oh, goodie." Gilbert said sarcastically. "At least if I don't have love I can have an ass-load of money on my name."

"Hold on." Matt cut into their argument. "Let's say a normal guy got caught up in all this. Say…a bartender. What would they do with him?"

"He vould probably be put through the system in a matter of hours. The sooner the better."

"Okay." Matt said, nodding. "Yeah. That sounds..Can you excuse me a minute?"

He sat down on the floor and curled into a ball behind the counter.

* * *

Gilbert watched Matt disappear behind the counter. He turned angrily back to Granddad.

"What'd you go and say that for?" Gilbert demanded.

"Vhat?"

"He…the.." The full impact of his words hit him. "Alfred's dead?"

"Vho is Alfred?"

"His brother…" Gilbert said distractedly. "He…he got kidnapped a few days before Ludwig."

"Ah." Granddad said. "Then…I can't really give you much hope."

"Is there any way he might be alive?" Gilbert asked desperately. "You…there has to be something. Alfred...he's like my best friend…"

Granddad thought for a moment. "He might…if Edelstein thought it might be better for his vallet to keep him ali-"

"_Edelstein_?"

"Ja. He is-"

"_Roderich_ Edelstein?"

Granddad frowned. "Ja…you know him?"

Gilbert stared at him.

"Roderich Senior?" Matt sniffed, surfacing again.

"Roderich…the sixth, I believe." Granddad said. "Vhy?"

"We know…we know his grandson." Gilbert said. "Roddy's family is the one running the underground organ black market?"

"It has for decades. I am surprised he moved it to America." Granddad said dismissively.

"And you were part of it?" Gilbert demanded.

"Of course not."

"Then where's your money come from?"

"Old money. Your great great grandfather vas a Baron of Prussia." Granddad said dismissively.

"What's Prussia?" Gilbert asked.

"Never mind." Granddad said. "The point is, I was never involved in his…business."

"We should tell Dad." Matt said thickly.

Gilbert nodded, still suspicious. "You'll talk to the police, won't you?"

Granddad didn't say anything.

"Granddad!" Gilbert said angrily. "Just tell them what you know!"

"Things vill go smoother if I just give Edelstein-"

"What about Alfred? Just talk to the fucking police!" Gilbert shouted.

Granddad sighed. "Fine. Alright. I vill talk to the Americans."

"I'll call him." Matt said, disappearing into the kitchen.

* * *

"Dad I know, would you just-"

Matt waited patiently while Dad explained _exactly_ why he shouldn't be called while he was this busy.

"Dad would you-"

More complaining. Matt pulled the phone away from his ear to glare at it.

"Dad we know something about Alfred!" Matt broke in.

"Wh..what?"

"Gilbert's grandfather's here. He said the kidnapper contacted him about Ludwig…and..stuff."

"Why didn't you say so before?"

_Because you were fucking talking_. "Sorry."

"Is he at the bar?"

"Yeah, he's here now."

"Tell him to wait there. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Got it." Matt said quickly, eager to get off the phone. "Bye, Dad."

He hung up before he could be chastised for something else and returned to the main part of the bar.

"I told you, _one_." Matt said angrily, eyeing the can in Gilbert's hand.

"Aw, give me a break." Gilbert pleaded, clinging to his beer.

"Gilbert, I swear to god, if you have a seizure-"

"I'm not going to _seize…_"

"I don't care. If you…drop dead….if blood starts pouring from your eyes…"

"You'll what?" Gilbert asked, taking another sip. "You'll just let me die? Hmm?"

Matt deflated. "No…"

"Thought not."

Matt sighed and rummaged under the bar. He _really_ needed a drink before Dad got here…

He glanced at Gilbert's grandfather. "Oh, Mr…er…Beilschmidt?"

"Beilschmidt or Gilbert, vhichever." He responded. Gilbert choked on his beer.

"Your name is Gilbert too?" he asked.

"Well so was your dad's." Matt said without thinking.

Both Gilberts stared at him.

"…how'd you know that?" Gilbert asked. Matt faltered.

"I…uh…you told me."

"No I didn't."

"Feli told me then, that was it." Matt said quickly. "You know, when he told me…stuff…

Gilbert was still staring at him suspiciously. Matt chewed his lip, hoping very badly that Dad had misjudged his time and would be here soon. Hopefully with Arthur, who would keep his mouth shut for him.

"I…you know…Want some onion rings?"

"No." Gilbert said. "All I've eaten in the last two days is onion rings."

"I could go out and bring you something-"

"How'd you really know?"

"It was a guess, okay?" Matt said, laughing out of fear now. He twisted the towel in his hands so hard it was starting to tear. "I just guessed! It wasn't hard. It's like Roderich's family, you know-"

Matt winced again. Comparing Roderich's family to his definitely was not a good idea. Especially considering recent events.

"I…uh…I have to do something…in the back."

He vanished into the kitchen, praying that Gilbert wouldn't have the sense of mind or the physical ability to follow him.

_Please oh please oh please get here soon…_

He paced the kitchen anxiously. _Oh please oh please…_

He wasn't sure how much time went by. It seemed like it was _crawling_…Had it been twenty minutes yet? It felt like hours.

The door swung open and he flinched, but it was only Arthur.

"What are you doing back here?"

"I…" Matt continued twisting the towel as the door swung shut behind Arthur. "I might have…let slip…that I know Gilbert's dad was also named Gilbert."

"So?"

"So he wants to know _how_ I know." Matt said desperately. "I said he told me and then I said Feliciano told me and then I said I guessed and…I'm not good at lying, Arthur! I'm really not good at lying!"

"Just calm down, for one." Arthur said. "You're going to start spilling your soul if you stay that worked up."

"Everyone knows everything in my soul!" Matt cried. "I'm not good at lying, I can't do this, Arthur, I just can't…I have to tell him. I have to go tell him."

"Matt." Arthur grabbed his shoulders, stopping him. "You c…have you been crying?"

Arthur didn't know. Arthur didn't know Alfred was probably dead. Matt's eyes welled up again.

"What?" Arthur demanded. "You said you knew something about Alfred! What was it?"

"Arthur he….They wouldn't keep him alive for so long. They'd…they'd separate him as soon as they could." Matt sobbed as his eyes overflowed. "They…they would have….."

Arthur's face was suddenly blank.

"A…Arthur?"

"No."

"B..but-"

"No, okay? No!" Arthur let go of him. "No, you're wrong, Alfred's alive. He's alive. I know he's alive."

Matt nodded though his tears. He wanted so badly to believe him.

"And you won't tell Gilbert _anything_."

Matt nodded again.

"Good boy, Matt." Arthur said. "Come on, I wanna hear what they're saying."

Matt followed him back into the bar, wiping his eyes hurriedly.

"What do you _mean_, he talked to you?"

"I mean he came to my home and spoke to me." Mr. Beilschmidt was saying. With quite an aggravated tone, at that. But then he _was_ talking to Dad…

"He knew where to find you?"

"Yes." Mr. Beilschmidt said shortly.

"How?"

There was a pause.

"Ve are old colleagues."

"Colleagues as in...partners in crime?"

Another pause.

"Ve have a history together. I know him, he knows me. I had nothing to do vith either of the boys being kidnapped."

"How do we know that?"

Arthur scoffed and then pulled something out from under the bar. Matt reached for the bottle he grabbed.

"Come on, I'm not a drunk, Matt."

"Yes you are." Matt said dismissively. "But I get the first glass."

Arthur grinned and popped the top off. "No problem."

"Do I get-"

"No." Matt and Arthur said together.

Gilbert returned to sulking. Matt accepted the drink Arthur handed him and watched him pour one for himself.

"So what's this mean?" Arthur asked, taking a quick gulp of his drink. "What are we doing next?"

"That's why Dad's here, isn't it?" Matt asked. "He's supposed to decide what our next step is. Or, you know, the police."

"Mmm, not to sound like a mindless rebel, but fuck the police." Arthur said calmly. "This sounds like an inside job to me. Alfred and Ludwig didn't just get snatched. They were _chosen_, specifically."

"Yeah, Ludwig was chosen, Alfred was sort of in the way." Matt pointed out. He'd shoved his fear and grief someplace else for now. When he knew for sure he could examine it more carefully. Not before.

"Do you think they thought he was you?" Arthur asked. "I mean, it's possible-"

"Not at all." Matt told him. "People confuse me for Alfred. It's never the other way around. Ever."

"But that's my point, do you think they saw you from a distance and assumed you were your brother?" Arthur said. "You said you saw them through the window of the bar, right? What if they saw you and thought you were your brother?"

"I guess…" Matt said thoughtfully. "But still, why not just get both of us? Why _only_ Alfred?"

"Maybe because he's friends with Gilbert, that's a good connection." Arthur pointed out.

"Then I'd think Feliciano would be in the same danger." Matt said. "Actually, has anyone seen Feliciano since Elizabeta told him?"

"He's still at his place." Gilbert mumbled, looking unbelievably bored. "He called me like every nine seconds until Lovino took his phone away."

"Well he's fine anyway." Arthur said. "They'd only use him to get Ludwig and they already have him, so no worries there."

"True." Matt nodded. "My guess is they still want you, though, Gilbert."

"If they thought they had a chance, they would have waited before talking to Granddad." Gilbert sighed. "They probably figured I wouldn't be alone for a while, considering I still need near-constant attention, and all. Shame, they missed their chance the other day."

"I feel so useless." Matt sighed. "I mean, what can we do?"

"I think we should talk to Roderich." Gilbert said.

"We're not going to go give Roderich hell, Gilbert." Arthur told him.

"No, I'm serious." Gilbert picked his chin up off the counter. "I think we should go talk to him. He might know something. And him and Ludwig got along, he might feel guilty enough to spill something."

"We should let Dad do it, if it's even worth bothering." Matt said. "I mean, he's the one-"

"A: Who's Roderich going to listen to, several school buddies who may or may not kill him some time in the future, or an idiot who…okay, no offense Matt, but your dad has less people skills than your brother and he lacks the charming dimwitted smile."

"Mmm…why would I be insulted by that?" Matt asked dryly.

"Oh, shut it, you know I'm right." Gilbert said quickly.

"What's B?"

"What?"

"You said 'A', which implies that there will be a follow up." Arthur pointed out. "More specifically, 'B'."

"Oh, right." Gilbert said. "B: I _really_ want to kill Roderich."

"We're not killing Roderich."

"Okay, yeah, there's that 'we' thing. I never said _you _were-"

"Are you driving yourself to his dorm?" Matt asked politely, pouring himself another drink. "The day you can walk across the street is the day you should start picking fights. I know you're still biding your time about Feliciano."

Gilbert watched him swallow his drink bitterly. "Fine. But we should go talk to Roderich. He knows _something_, and we're going to get it out of him better than the idiot currently debating the meaning of the word 'colleague' right now."

Gilbert wasn't lying. Dad was deep in a discussion with Mr. Beilschmidt about the exact meaning of the word 'colleague' and how it addressed the relationship between Mr. Beilschmidt and Roderich Edelstein the Senior Senior.

"I don't know Gilbert…I mean, you know, Dad-"

"Okay, C:" Gilbert interrupted. "We are citizens and your Dad is-…actually what is your Dad?"

"What do you mean?" Matt finished off his second glass.

"I mean, I thought he was like…in the military or whatever. He's like…investigating. That's not legal, is it?"

"Oh, he's not in the military anymore." Matt said dismissively. "He works at the local police station back home. It's kinda part-time, you know, but he still gets to butt into cases if his son is involved…and being a decorated major doesn't hurt."

"Why'd he leave the military if he's so amazing, then?" Gilbert asked.

Matt shrugged. "I 'unno. He left, I think."

"Why?"

Matt just shrugged again. What was he _drinking_…? Oh, straight-up vodka. He was really distracted tonight if he was just figuring that out. Or very drunk. He couldn't really tell anymore.

"You gonna finish that train of thought you were having earlier?" Arthur asked.

"What?"

"You said something about Mr. Jones being not a citizen and then trailed off."

"Oh, right." Gilbert said. "Anyway, he's not allowed to…you know, scare ol' Roddy. He can't like, intimidate Roderich or he might just call up his army of lawyers and alert his dad and…shit gets messy, right?"

"Maybe." Arthur shrugged. "Or he cooperates."

"_Or_ shit gets messy." Gilbert insisted. "But if _we_ come in, most specifically me, reeking of alcohol…well what's he gonna do, call his dad saying his fiancé's ex-boyfriend started spewing shit about being responsible for his brother going missing?"

Matt paused.

"Maybe I'm just drunk but that kinda makes sense."

"No fuck." Gilbert said, annoyed by his surprise. "I do actually say something, you know, sensible once in fucking blue moon."

"Okay, calm yourself Gilbert." Arthur said, annoyed. "What time is it? Is it really a good idea to just shove off right now?"

"It's like midnight." Matt said, glancing at his watch.

"Time is of the essence." Gilbert said, straightening up. "For both of them. All in favor of roughing up Roderich in the name of justice and saving a few little brothers from being cut into highly profitable chunks say 'I'"

"I." Matt said immediately.

"I second that." Gilbert said quickly. "Arthur, you've been outvoted."

"Fucking _Americans_." Arthur said furiously. "No one said this was a _democracy_. It's a dictatorship, and as I'm the only one in any condition to drive, I make the decisions. We're not going."

"Hey, you don't even have a license-"

"I have a _permit_." Arthur sneered. "Anyway, it's _midnight_, who's going to pull me over, your Dad?"

"Well it's my car-" Matt tried again.

"Matt you're the biggest lightweight I've ever seen. If you drive now we will all wind up like Gilbert."

Gilbert opened his mouth angrily to retort and then appeared to decide that Arthur was, in fact, correct.

Matt fumed for a moment. "Gilbert, can you-"

"I can't tie my own shoes."

"Well that doesn't mean we can't go, Arthur! This is important, you don't-wait you're wearing shoes now."

"Yeah. I am." Gilbert said.

"Who tied them?"

"Ludwig."

"But…"

"I slept in them."

Matt and Arthur stared at him.

"Why don't you just get slip-on shoes?" Arthur asked.

"Because slip-on shoes are for fags and Europeans." Gilbert said grumpily. "As I am neither I will not wear them."

"As I am both let me give you some advice: Fuck off."

Gilbert flipped him off. "Kiss my ass, Brit. You're just angry 'cause Americans had to save your sorry English ass twice."

"Okay, as productive as this sounds," Matt cut in. "I would prefer that we made some decision tonight. Gotta clear the bar out before boss-man checks in."

"We've _made_ the decision. We're not going anywhere."

"Okay, I don't remember electing you king." Gilbert said.

"You don't _elect_ a king, stupid." Arthur sneered.

"Well I don't remember to agreeing to being part of your kingdom!" Gilbert said angrily.

"Can we flip a coin?" Matt asked.

"Wh…you don't make important decisions like this on a _coin flip_." Arthur said.

"I do." Gilbert said. "I decided to break up with Elizabeta on a coin flip."

"You did?" Matt asked.

"Of course the fuck not." Gilbert said. "You don't make _important decisions_ on a _coin flip_."

"Also she broke up with you." Arthur reminded him.

"Okay, look, Arthur, this isn't a dictatorship. You can't just tell us what to do." Matt said, frustrated.

"_I'm_ the one driving. I call the shots." Arthur said stubbornly.

"Last I checked you're in _my_ bar and it's _my _car. I can leave when I want and I can drive where I want." Matt picked up his keys from the counter. "So if you're not going to drive me, I'll just drive down myself. Gilbert you're free to stay here. I understand if you're uncomfortable with, you know, influenced driving."

"Bullshit that." Gilbert said, standing up. "Like you can do more damage? Even if I don't get there in one piece some part of me is going to kick the fucking crap out of Roderich."

"Let's go." Matt said, ducking under the bar.

"Wait-!" Arthur said.

"Yeees?" Matt turned back around.

"I…" Arthur snatched the keys from Matt's hand. "_Fine_. Goddamn, you Americans and your guilt-trips. I swear, if this backfires…I will sell your heart _myself_."

"You're a dream, Artie." Matt said happily. "Hey, Dad? Daad…"

"Matt I'm bus…are you drunk?"

"Noo…" Arthur discretely helped him regain his balance. "I…uh…I'm tired. Artie's gonna take all three of us back to my place, mmk? It's…well it's the biggest." For some reason this was ridiculously funny. Matt choked back a fit of giggles.

Dad stared at him. "Matt, you.." He glanced at the half-empty bottle on the counter. "Fine, we'll talk about it later. I'll call you if we find anything."

"Got it, Dad." Matt said. "Onward, boys."

Gilbert paused with his hand on the door.

"Where're you staying, Granddad?"

"I have a house in the area…if you vant, you're velcome to-"

"Nah, I'll bunk with Matt. My meds and stuff are at his place anyway." Gilbert said hurriedly. "'s cool with you, right Matt?"

"Someone's gotta sleep in Alfred's bed." Matt giggled. "Besides Alfred. And Arthur. You remember that one time when I came home early when you were-"

"We'll see you later." Arthur said hurriedly, pushing Matt out the door.

"Aw, that was a good story." Matt said as the door swung shut behind them. "Heh. You know Alfred gets morning wood like all the time? Like all the fucking time."

"He didn't the other da…you know what? Never mind." Gilbert said. Matt giggled.

"He told me about that… Hey, what's five meters mean?"

Gilbert immediately turned red. "I…what?"

"Five meters. He wrote it on your get-well card. It's like an inside joke, right?"

"I'm…going to go get the car." Arthur said. "Please don't hurt yourself, Matt."

"Heh. Yeah." Matt nodded. "So what's it mean?"

"The other bit." Gilbert said as Arthur walked away. "He_ told_ you? Told you what, exactly?"

"That you had a massive sex dream about him and had to shower for like half an hour to get rid of the raging boner it gave you." Matt said, grinning at him. "Hey, his words, not mine. Don't worry, my brother's a whore, he's just…contagious."

"Yeah. Sure." Gilbert said angrily.

"So what's five meters?"

"What? Oh, it's a stupid joke. It's just…well the dirtier you think the closer you probably are."

Matt chuckled and let his mind wander while Arthur pulled up the car.

"What are you going to say to Roderich?"

Gilbert didn't answer.

"Well?" Matt insisted impatiently.

"You know, I've never seen you drunk." Gilbert said. "It's kind of like seeing Ludwig drunk. It's a whole side I didn't know existed."

"What's Ludwig like drunk?" Matt asked thoughtfully.

Gilbert chuckled. "You ever see one of your teachers in real life? Like, at the store, or something?"

"Yeah, I guess." Matt said.

"It's sort of like that. You _see_ them but your mind tells you that this context is completely incorrect."

"So…he's…the opposite of Ludwig."

"He's very much everything you assume Ludwig is not." Gilbert clarified.

"I must see that sometime."

"Oh, trust me, I hope you do. It's the best show on Earth. I have only been blessed with it once and it was glorious."

Arthur pulled up and honked at them. Matt stumbled towards the car and tripped. Gilbert caught him.

"Look I'm not very stable myself, if you're going to be doing this all night you better find someone else to lean on-"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Matt said. "I swear! Look, let go."

Gilbert hesitantly released Matt's shirt and he kept his balance.

"See?"

"Get in the damn car. I call shotgun." Gilbert said, pulling open the door. Matt climbed into the backseat and slid down so his face was pressed against the floor.

"It smells weird down here."

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked.

"He's drunk. Drive."

Matt groaned as the car started to move and pushed himself up so the breeze could hit his face. Maybe the ride down would clear his head…

* * *

Alfred chewed his fingernails again. He never chewed his fingernails. He thought it was a cowardly trait to have. Now he'd gnawed his down to stubs and was going around again to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

He was barely conscious of it. It was something to do that didn't involve resigning himself to die some terrible death and be cut apart and shipped across the country.

He was trying not to think about a lot. What Matt would do if he found out Alfred had been sold for parts? Dad. What would Dad think? Would he come to his funeral? Would he even have a funeral?

No, he wasn't supposed to be thinking about that…. What were they doing to Ludwig? Was it the same thing Ivan had done to him? Why had they taken him to the other room? Wouldn't it make more of an impression if Ivan had an audience? What was the Cooler?

He wasn't supposed to think about that either. Because then he'd feel guilty for not stopping it and like he'd betrayed Gilbert somehow and-

No. Something else, something else…It was midterms week. He was missing all his exams…he was going to flunk out, all that _money_ he'd wasted on classes….Matt was right, he really was the worst brother ever. Getting kidnapped and putting him through hell when he was trying to take his midterms and costing him a fortune in medical bills, if he ever managed to get the fuck out of here. How much did a busted shoulder cost?

The room still smelt like blood. For once in his life, Alfred just wished someone would come and rescue _him_.

* * *

The Cooler was an appropriate name. Ludwig watched his breath form in midair and waited for the ache in his ribs to ease. Ivan had left and come back three times now. It was either the cold or the beatings, and right now Ludwig was fucking sick of the cold.

"You're not tired, are you?" he called through the door. "Did I wear you out?"

No response. He shifted his arms so the handcuffs wouldn't stick to his skin.

"You're not bored of me, are you? Because that would really hurt my feelings."

He wiped away the blood from the corner of his mouth before it froze. "It's awfully boring in here. And cold. I've always hated the cold. What about you, you're Russian, right? Russians like cold. Doesn't it make you feel at home?"

Finally, the doorknob twisted. He watched Ivan walk in, taking care to shut the door behind him.

"Oh, good, I was worried that you wouldn't come back."

Ivan paused, looking Ludwig over.

"Do you have a death wish, my friend?"

"Do you?" Ludwig retorted.

Ivan shook his head. "Why do you continue to call me back? You know what will happen."

"Maybe I'm a masochist." Ludwig sneered. "Well? Are you going to teach me a lesson or not?"

Ivan set the freezing metal end of his pipe on Ludwig's chin, turning his face up so he could examine the bruises he'd left on it.

"Why, Beilschmidt? This would be over by now if you would only keep your mouth shut."

"Did Boss tell you that?" Ludwig taunted. "Do you like being the grunt, Ivan? Do you like taking orders from a German?"

Ivan tilted Ludwig's head back farther, so he was pressed against the wall. "Because us Germans? We don't trust Austrians who claim they have all the answers. Doesn't seem to work out very well for us."

The pipe fell away from his chin.

"Why, Beilschmidt?"

"Why don't you hit harder? You've barely bruised me." Ludwig asked. "Don't want more damaged goods?"

"I know for a fact I've broken at least three of your ribs." Ivan sighed. "Enough taunting, Beilschmidt, I don't want to play this game anymore."

"Why don't you just kill me now?" Ludwig demanded. "Why go through all this? Why keep me alive?"

"Because you are more valuable alive." Ivan told him, sounding disappointed.

"And my brother? Gilbert wasn't more valuable alive?"

"Gilbert died completely by accident. Shot in the chest, you know. Bled out in car before we arrived. It didn't take very long, if that comforts you."

"It doesn't." Ludwig said. "But thank you for trying."

"Don't make me do this, Beilschmidt. Just go back to your cell quietly."

"I can't do that, Ivan."

"And why not?"

Ludwig didn't answer. He wiped at the corner of his mouth again.

"Are you going to get this over with?"

Ivan sighed again. "Your brother died protecting you."

"It's all he's ever done."

"Would he want you undo all his hard work because you are stubborn?"

"Do you have siblings, Ivan?"

"I do. I was raised by my older sister."

Ludwig laughed humorlessly. "Small world."

"It really is." Ivan said. "So, one little brother to another, go back to your cell quietly and we don't have to do this again."

"Sorry, Ivan." Ludwig said. "I can't do that."

Ivan shook his head and raised the pipe almost tiredly. "I hope you know I regret this."

"It's all business to you, isn't it?"

"All business."

Ludwig grunted as the curved end of the pipe connected with his shoulder.


	20. Like Father, Like Rat

"I haven't been to the dorms before." Matt said, looking around curiously.

"You haven't?"

"Nope." Matt said. "What're they like on the inside?"

Gilbert pushed open the front door. "Like college dorms. Really fucking small. I can't believe Roderich lives here if he's loaded."

"I wonder why that is?" Arthur asked, following Gilbert.

"Who knows?" Matt said, watching a couple kissing in the corner. Or maybe they were doing more than that, was that her hand down his-?

"Come on, Matt." Arthur pulled him away from the scene.

"What floor is Roderich on?"

"Third floor, room two doors down from the bathroom." Gilbert said immediately.

Arthur and Matt stared at him.

"Well Elizabeta mentioned it a lot!" he said defensively, stabbing an elevator button. "And…you know…Francis and Antonio are in this dorm...look it isn't important."

The elevator opened and the smell of vomit washed over them. Matt gagged.

"Why don't we just take the stairs?" Arthur asked, covering his nose and trying not to look at the pool of sick in the elevator.

"Yeah, sure, you go ahead and do that." Gilbert said moodily. "I'll meet you there."

"Why don't you take the stairs with us?" Matt asked as Gilbert carefully stepped around the puddle and into the elevator.

"Because, fuckhead, I hit my head on a tree about two months ago." Gilbert snapped. "Just take the fucking stairs and I'll meet you there."

"Oh, that's right." Matt said as Arthur led him up the stairs. "Did you know Gilbert has trouble walking?"

"I did."

"He's also got a massive scar on his face."

"I've seen it."

"It's really freaky but don't tell him I said that. He's really sensitive about it."

"I've met Gilbert, Matt." Arthur said, guiding him over an unconscious body in the stairwell. He _was_ unconscious, right?

"Right. Why are we here?"

"Because you're a fucking manipulator, is what you are." Arthur muttered.

Matt nodded distractedly. He couldn't quite remember what a manipulator was right now.

They successfully made it up three flights of stairs without much hassle. At least Matt only slipped once, and Arthur caught him right away so it didn't really matter anyway.

Gilbert was waiting for them at the top of the stairs impatiently.

"You smell like puke." Matt informed him.

"I'm aware." Gilbert said dryly. "Roderich's door is there." He pointed down the hall.

"Well…are we just going to knock?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, I guess." Gilbert said, shrugging. "I mean, do you have a better idea?"

"He's probably asleep."

"So?"

Arthur sighed and gently prodded Matt down the hall. Matt went with him, more curious about the carpeting than the door Gilbert had pointed out.

"What if Elizabeta's there?" Arthur asked.

"Nah, her car wasn't in the parking lot." Gilbert dismissed quickly.

"How do you know?"

"She always parks in the same spot." Gilbert said. "I just know, okay? You gonna knock or should I?"

"I'm not knocking. This wasn't my idea."

Gilbert looked at the door hesitantly.

"Why don't you knock?"

"I just told you I'm not knocking."

"It's just…I don't-"

Matt interrupted them by knocking on Roderich's door. Well, if he left it to them they'd never get anything done.

There was a shuffling noise inside and then silence.

"He's not going to answer." Arthur said. "It's the middle of the night."

"Hey Roderich!" Matt called, pounding on the door again. "We wanna talk to you about your grandfather!"

"Shut it, Matt!" Arthur whispered harshly, slapping a hand over his mouth. "You're gonna wake the whole dorm!"

The door opened.

"My what?" Roderich asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Your grandfather." Matt said, pulling Arthur's hand away from his mouth. "He's a murderer."

"Uh…" Roderich looked from Matt to Arthur to Gilbert and back to Matt. "Are you drunk?"

"He is, I'm not-"

"For once." Gilbert muttered.

"Shut up, Gilbert! You're the one who just _had_ to-"

"And he's the one who kidnapped Alfred and Ludwig." Matt interrupted.

Roderich stared at him.

"Why don't you…come in?" he said slowly, as if he expected someone to suddenly break into song and convince him that he was still dreaming. Matt marched inside and the other two followed quickly.

Matt looked around the dorm. It was one room, one tiny bed in the corner and one tiny dresser next to it that must have been empty because there was an ocean of clothes on the floor. He waded through it to watch the luminescent hands of a clock on the dresser.

Roderich closed the door behind them.

"I'd...uh…offer you something...but…it's a dorm."

"How's this glow?" Matt asked, fascinated.

"It's…glow in the dark? I don't know, Elizabeta gave it to me." Roderich said dismissively. "Why are you here, again?"

"Because you know something about Alfred and Ludwig and we want to get it out of you." Matt said. "Are you_ sure_ you don't know how this works?"

Arthur sighed. "Yes, Matt is very drunk."

"But he's right." Gilbert said quickly. "We know your Granddad has something to do with them going missing."

"He's also had a few drinks too." Arthur said.

"Hey, asshole, are you saying I'm _wrong_?" Gilbert asked angrily.

"I'm not saying anything." Arthur said. "This wasn't my idea."

"You're talking now." Gilbert said.

"Okay, back up, to the part about Granddad." Roderich said. "What was that?"

"My Granddad showed up and said _your_ Granddad was the one who gave him the ransom note in person for Ludwig."

"Your granddad is here?"

"_Yes_, my very rich very German Granddad is here, stay on topic." Gilbert said. "What do you know about _your_ Granddad?"

"He…runs businesses?" Roderich said unsurely. "I'm not sure what you think he has to do with your brother, as unfortunate as that is-"

"Don't fuck with me." Gilbert said angrily. "I know you fucking _know _something, and if I have to I will beat your head in with that glow-in-the-dark clock Matt is staring at until you tell me!"

Roderich laughed nervously. "Are you sure this isn't just about something else, Gilbert-"

"I told you not to fuck with me!" Gilbert said, voice rising. "This isn't about stealing my fucking girlfriend! Your _granddad_ hurt my _brother,_ and if I don't get answers I'm going to hurt _you_, are we clear?"

"I already told you Granddad didn't do anything!" Roderich said, taking a step back as Gilbert took a step forward. Matt looked up from the clock to watch. "He's got a criminal record, I…I don't know what it is, but he'd never do anything like that!"

"Like what?" Gilbert demanded. "Like fucking WHAT?"

"I don't know!" Roderich backtracked. "I don't know what happened to them! I swear!" He pressed against the wall. "Gilbert I swear, please, I can't say…I don't know anything!"

"You can't say or you don't know?" Gilbert shouted. "Make up your fucking mind before I spread it all over the wall!"

"I.." Roderich looked like a cornered animal. "Fine, okay, he does things, I don't know what, I swear, I SWEAR! He's a criminal, he's got this…this thing…a business? He makes money, a lot of money. People disappear. He says if I don't keep my mouth shut I'll disappear too! I don't know about Alfred or Ludwig, I don't!"

"Liar!" Gilbert took another step forward. "What else? Where are they? When are they processing them?"

"I don't know what that means!" Roderich insisted.

Gilbert made to jump at Roderich and he let out a frightened noise similar to the sound a girl makes when someone snaps her bra.

"He sells organs! I think that's what he does!"

"What do you mean 'you think'?" Gilbert demanded.

"I don't know! I crashed my car a few years ago and I needed a kidney and he got me one! No questions asked, they bribed the doctor not to say a word about it, it didn't come from him or anyone in the family, it just…it was just there!" Roderich said, words spilling together in his rush to get them out before Gilbert murdered him.

"Where does he live?"

"In Austria, but he's been staying farther north!"

"Where is he now? Is he in the area?"

"If he is I haven't seen him!" Roderich said. "I don't know where he is, my family isn't speaking with me!"

"Why not?" Gilbert yelled.

"Because I didn't want to go into the family business!" Roderich said.

"Oh really? Why not?" Gilbert backed off a little, curious now.

"B...because I didn't want to kill anyone!" Roderich said, watching Gilbert's hackles go down cautiously. "I swear if I knew where they were I'd tell you. I don't want anything to happen to them, they're…well I like to think they're my friends."

"What _do_ you know?" Gilbert asked.

"I…just….if Granddad got them…Granddad's very efficient." Roderich said nervously.

"What are you saying?"

"That…I…there's a very small window during which organs are good once they've left the body, and if someone needs something he'll…plan around that."

"What's that _mean_?" Gilbert asked, starting to yell again. "Just spit it out!"

"They'll be processed when it's most convenient for him, and Granddad…hasn't had good business lately, there's a list, and…people pay good money to get on it, it's just-"

"What's that fucking _mean_, Roderich, so help me I will-"

But Matt knew what it meant.

"He's saying they've already been cut up!" Matt shouted, jumping at Roderich himself. Roderich squealed and flinched again, but there was no need. Arthur caught Matt's arm and held him back. "You fucker! They're dead, aren't they? Isn't that what you're saying?"

"I don't know, I don't know!" Roderich cried. "Probably, that's how Granddad works!"

"You gonna fucking get a piece of them then? Put something on hold just in case you need another kidney? Let _go_ of me, Arthur!"

"Gilbert, get over here and help me!" Arthur called, still trying to pacify Matt. Matt bit his fingers and they released. Gilbert grabbed his other arm.

"Bastard, don't bite me!" Arthur said angrily, holding Matt back again, since Gilbert wasn't doing much.

"Let go! He's the reason they're dead! I'm gonna kill him! I'm gonna kill his stupid face!" Matt shouted, clawing at the two pairs of hands holding him back.

"Not that I'm not all for that idea-"

"Gilbert!"

"But now isn't the time, Matt." Gilbert said, trying to soothe him. "Come on, Matt, it isn't his fault…I mean from the sounds of it we know more than he does-"

"It's his fault!" Matt roared, still fighting. Roderich cowered in the corner like the little bitch he was. "It's all his fault! If he wasn't here his grandfather wouldn't have known where they were!"

"That's not tru-" Gilbert tried.

"He killed your parents!" Matt screamed at him, trying to disentangle Arthur's hands. Gilbert froze.

"What?"

"His grandfather! He killed your parents!" Matt continued.

Gilbert's hands fell away.

"How would you know that?" Gilbert asked. "You couldn't know that."

"I do!" Matt said. "We looked at his records when we were with Dad in the police station, didn't we? We found a newspaper clipping. Your dad was named Gilbert too."

"That's how…that's how you knew." Gilbert said, dumbstruck.

"And it's all _his_ fault!" Matt goaded eagerly. "It's all his fault you grew up in a home and Ludwig got beaten by those fucking foster parents and you lived in the streets!"

"Matt, shut up!" Arthur said angrily, putting his hand over Matt's mouth. Matt pulled his head away and kept talking.

"_And_ I bet you're right about him hitting you when you crashed your bike!"

Gilbert was staring at him, in some form of mild shock. Slowly, his face turned from blank disbelief to fury. He turned to Roderich again, who looked terrified.

"Gilbert I swear to god that wasn't-!"

"FUCKER!" Gilbert jumped at him and this time there was no one to hold him back. He slammed Roderich's head into the wall and they both hit the ground. "YOU LITTLE BITCH! I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Gilbert!" Arthur shouted, still holding Matt back. Matt cheered him on. "Gilbert, get off him, you're going to get us arrested!"

Gilbert grabbed Roderich's collar and jerked his head back into the wall again. Roderich pulled at his hands, but if there was one thing Gilbert could do it was hang on to something.

"Gilbert! Use the book!" Matt called.

"Shut up, Matt!" Arthur said, sounding panicked. "Gilbert, don't-"

Gilbert wasn't listening to either of them. He let go of Roderich's collar with one hand to punch him in the nose. Roderich yelped.

Matt cheered. "Throw him out the window, Gilbert!"

"Gilbert, if I get in trouble I am going to fucking _kill_ you-"

Roderich grabbed something from the ground and threw it at Gilbert. Gilbert dodged the textbook but Roderich managed to pull away. He darted out the door and Gilbert followed. Arthur finally let go and Matt raced after them.

"Coward! Get back here and die like a man!" Gilbert screamed.

"Gilbert, I didn't do anything!" Roderich paused at the top of the stairs to look back, pleading with Gilbert.

"You killed my parents!" Gilbert shouted. "And my brother!"

"That was my grandfather!" Roderich said, frozen to the spot. "Gilbert, please-"

Gilbert threw himself at Roderich again. They both disappeared down the stairwell. There was the horrible tumbling sound of two bodies falling down the stairs and the loud slam as they hit the floor at the bottom

* * *

Alfred was counting the cracks in the ceiling again. There were still only four.

Outside, it was bright and sunny. Somewhere in the distance a car door slammed and someone laughed. He sighed and rolled over, closing his eyes. He was trapped down here, trapped forever. He would die down here, cut apart into a million pieces, with his blood stored away in a crate under a store until someone with enough money and need called The Emperor up for a business deal…

The door opened. Alfred kept his eyes closed. He liked the cell better when he couldn't see it. He could imagine he was somewhere else, that he was a hero being held captive by the villain and plotting his escape. Not some bruised teenager waiting for his turn to be sawed up.

Something hit the ground and the door slammed again. Alfred sighed and opened his eyes again.

"You okay?"

There was a pause.

"Yeah."

Alfred nodded, though Ludwig couldn't see it from where he was.

"You bleeding?"

"Yeah."

"Put pressure on it."

"Why?"

Alfred shrugged. "'dunno. 'cause that's what you're supposed to do."

There was a soft scraping sound as Ludwig shifted on the ground and then silence.

"You missed the sunrise." Alfred said. "I heard the birds sing."

"I'm sorry I missed that."

"It was nice." Alfred said, smiling at the memory. "I keep wondering when it'll be my last."

Ludwig shifted again. "Last morning?"

"Yeah. Last anything. I keep thinking that my last meal will be Spam. I wish they'd give me something better, at least. A hamburger sounds amazing right now."

"It does."

There was a moment of silence while they both listened to the distant sounds of life outside.

"Hey Ludwig?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about Gilbert."

Ludwig was quiet for a moment.

"So am I."

"Do you think there's a life after this one?" Alfred asked, watching dust float in the sunlight streaming in through the vent.

A pause. "No."

"Really?"

"I think when we die, there's nothing left for us to be."

Alfred nodded. "I think there is. Do you wish there was?"

"Of course."

"If there is," Alfred said. "I'll tell Gilbert you miss him."

"Thanks."

* * *

"Is he okay?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Yes. Is he okay, 'cause he's kind of my responsibility right now." Matt said. "Tell me he's okay. His brother is going to kill me… His grandfather is going to kill me."

"You're bleeding."

Matt wiped his nose and looked at the streak of red on his hand. "Yeah, I know. Is he okay?"

"He fractured his rib and gave himself a concussion." The ER doctor held up a scan to show him something that was too complicated to understand in Matt's current state. "And because of this, and this, and because he's been in and out of the hospital in the last few months we want to keep him overnight."

"Aw, shit." Matt said, wiping his nose again. "But he's okay, right? Like, he doesn't have more brain damage or something?"

"No, of course not, he only fell down half a flight of stairs." The doctor set down the scans again.

"But he's okay?"

"He's got a fractured rib and a concussion." the doctor said slowly.

"But that'll heal?"

"Yes, of course."

"Just one night?"

"If all goes well."

Matt sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay. Okay. What room is he in?"

The doctor looked behind him. "Uh…this…one."

"Right. I can go in, right?"

"Be my guest."

Matt nodded and pushed the door open. Gilbert was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, playing with his IV tube.

"Hey, Gilbert."

Gilbert sighed and dropped the IV tube. "So what am I in for?"

"Fractured rib. Concussion. General symptoms of falling down the stairs."

Gilbert chuckled. "At least I wasn't pregnant."

Matt groaned and sat down in the chair by Gilbert's bed. "That depends who the father was."

"Probably Alfred."

"He's pretty good at getting men pregnant, he is." Matt said, rubbing his nose.

"You okay?"

"Arthur was not happy with me." Matt said.

"He decked you?"

"You could say that." Matt sighed. "Look, Gilbert, I…"

"How'd you know?" Gilbert asked the ceiling.

Matt sighed. "I found Roderich's grandfather's file in the police station. It had a newspaper clipping in it."

"How'd you know it was...well how'd you know who it was?"

"Is your mom's name Lily?"

Gilbert stared at the ceiling.

"It was." he said quietly.

"Lily and Gilbert Beilschmidt, killed in a car accident."

Gilbert nodded. They sat in silence for a few minutes while Matt tried to stop his bleeding nose.

"Can I read it?"

Matt swallowed the blood pooling in his throat. "I don't have it with me.."

Gilbert nodded again. "I never read my parent's obituary. Didn't really matter to me at the time."

"I'm really sorry, Gilbert." Matt said. "I'm really, really sorry."

"For what?"

"That your parents are dead, I don't know." Matt said. "It just sounds like it sucks a lot."

Gilbert chuckled again. "You're really drunk, aren't you?"

"God, I am."

Gilbert curled on his side, towards Matt. Matt watched him.

"My parents are dead."

"I'm very sorry about that."

Gilbert stared into space.

"I am too."

Matt stood up unsteadily.

"Are you leaving?" Gilbert asked, picking his head up off the bed.

"Nah. I'll be right back." Matt said, brushing his hands on his pants and leaving red streaks on them.

Gilbert stared at him for a minute and then nodded.

"But you'll come back?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah." Matt said. "Don't worry, Gilbert, I'll come right back."

Gilbert nodded and put his head back on his pillow.

"Don't leave me alone, alright?"

* * *

"How's your nose?"

Matt jumped. "Uh...fine."

Arthur sighed and pulled a tissue from the dispenser on the wall and handed it to him. "Just pinch it, here…"

Matt accepted the tissue and pressed it to his nose, watching Arthur warily.

"Sorry I punched you."

"Sorry I told Gilbert." Matt said thickly.

"That was stupid of you."

"I know." Arthur followed Matt down the hall.

"So how's Roderich?"

"He'll be fine. I think he might have broken a rib or two but he'll live. He can certainly afford it." Arthur shrugged.

"Did he call his Granddad?"

"I don't think he's that stupid, Matt." Arthur said dryly, pulling Matt's hand away from his nose to look. "He called his family, that's all I know."

"You don't think they'll come after Gilbert or…"

"I think they're already after Gilbert." Arthur put Matt's hand back. "I honestly think Roderich is on our side. He doesn't want anything to happen to Alfred or Ludwig…"

Matt nodded, pausing at the doors as they opened automatically for him.

"Where are you going, anyway?" Arthur asked.

"To get Gilbert's things." Matt said distractedly.

"What things?"

Matt shrugged. "He just seems really out of it right now. I wanted to find something that would make him feel better."

"Short of pulling Ludwig out of thin air, I don't think there's anything that'll do that right now."

Matt nodded distractedly, looking at the bloody tissue in his hand.

"Did he call his grandfather?"

"Who, Gilbert?" Matt asked. "No. I don't know if he's very close to him."

"He's in the hospital, Matt." Arthur pointed out. "Don't you think his grandfather _wants_ to know?"

Matt shrugged again, twisting the tissue in his hands. "Are you staying here?"

"Really no point, I'll probably go back and see what your Dad has gotten done."

"I'll give you a ride." Matt said. "I'm good enough to drive…at least I think I am."

Arthur sighed. "Just drive slow." He pulled Matt's keys out and handed them over.

* * *

"I thought you were going home, Matt."

Matt glanced at Arthur.

"I...uh…wanted to give Arthur a ride back." Matt said. Well he wasn't _lying_.

"Vhere is Gilbert?" Mr. Beilschmidt asked.

"Sleeping." Arthur answered quickly. Still, not exactly a lie.

"You're covered in blood, Matt." Dad said, coming over to pick at the reddish-brown stain on his shirt. "Did you break your nose? You haven't been fighting, have you?"

Matt opened his mouth but no words came out. He was in _so much trouble_. So much _fucking_ trouble. He had to stop the automatic instinct to blame Alfred.

"I...uh…you see.."

"I punched him."

Oh, Arthur, why? _Why_?

"What for?" Dad damned, turning away from Matt to glare at Arthur.

"Because we went to see Roderich." Matt said quickly. "Our friend." he added.

"Why?"

"To ask him…what he knows." Matt said, feeling ashamed.

"Matt!"

"I'm sorry!" Matt said, flinching. "I'm sorry, Dad! I shouldn't have done it, I'm so sorry!"

"I thought you knew better!" Dad scolded furiously. "What did you think you were doing? And you _are_ drunk, I can smell it on your breath!"

Matt stared at the floor, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Dad."

"Lay off him, will you?" Arthur said angrily. "He's just trying to get something fucking accomplished, unlike you."

"Be _quiet_. All you do is criticize my parenting and tell me what a worthless man I am. Maybe if Alfred had never been around you he wouldn't have been kidnapped."

Arthur's face tinted red with rage. "Are you saying this is _my_ fault? Because I tend to socialize with fucking kidnappers, yes. It's just part of what I do in my free time!"

"I wouldn't be surprised." Dad spat.

"Dad, please!" Matt begged. "Don't get on Arthur's case. He tried to stop us from going. And if he hadn't been there we would have never made it to the hospital-"

Matt bit his lower lip to keep his mouth shut. _Shit shit shit shit…_

"The hospital?" Dad turned to him again. "Why were you in the hospital?"

Matt looked from Dad to Arthur, looking for an answer. Arthur looked just as startled and blank as he felt. He searched for an acceptable explanation but his mind was still fuzzy with drink and he kept coming up blank.

"Matt!" Dad said angrily. "Why were you at the hospital?"

He looked at Arthur again. _Help!_

Arthur opened his mouth but no helpful explanation poured forth. No beautifully-woven tale that would make this problem just _go away_. And while he was dreaming, could it also bring Alfred back? Alfred was so good at lying to Dad. He could do it without so much as blinking.

"I…I…" Matt stuttered. "I just…we…"

"Matt, tell me the _truth_." Dad insisted. "What did you do?"

Matt swallowed and decided the truth would hurt him less than a bad lie or further stalling at this point.

"I said I was feeling useless and then Gilbert said we should go talk to Roderich but Arthur said that was a bad idea because he probably didn't know anything and we'd get in trouble and Gilbert's still sort of unsteady but Gilbert said he was being a jerk and then there was something about democracies and dictatorships or something but now I can't remember and I said it was my car and I was going whether Arthur drove or not and Arthur didn't want me to crash because I was pretty drunk at that point so he drove me and Gilbert down to the dorms and then Gilbert told us that Roderich was on the third floor and we were going to take the elevator but someone threw up in it so me and Arthur took the stairs and Gilbert took the elevator because he can't climb stairs like at all and we met him on the third floor and he smelled like vomit and then neither of them wanted to knock on Roderich's door so I did and then there was some arguing but I was looking at this awesome clock Roderich has that glows in the dark and then Roderich said he didn't know anything and Gilbert got mad and sort of scared some stuff out of Roderich and then he said that Alfred and Ludwig had probably already been cut up and I got really mad and tried to kill him but Arthur and Gilbert stopped me so I told Gilbert that Roderich's Granddad killed his parents in that car accident and he went ballistic and started beating the crap out of Roderich and chased him down the hall and they both fell down a flight of stairs."

Matt finished, out of breath. The room was silent as his words slowly started to make sense and sink in.

"Wait, you did…why would you-"

"Vhere is Gilbert now?" Mr. Beilschmidt asked, interrupting Dad.

Matt hesitated. He wasn't sure if Gilbert wanted his granddad to know where he was.

"He…uh…" Matt stumbled.

"He's in the hospital." Arthur said, interrupting his stammering.

"He's okay though." Matt said quickly. "They just want to keep him overnight. I was actually just going back, he said…well he asked me to come back."

"What about the other boy?" Dad asked. "Your friend Roderich?"

"He's okay too." Matt said. "I don't…I didn't see him, but the doctors in the ER said he was fine. He's staying overnight too."

Dad sighed. "As long as they're both okay…that was still incredibly stupid of you, Matt."

"I know." Matt said, looking at the floor again. "Can…can I go now? I promised Gilbert I wouldn't be long."

"l vill go." Mr. Beilschmidt said.

"Wai…what?"

"He is my grandson, isn't he?" Mr. Beilschmidt told him, pushing open the front door. "I vill sit vith him. Go home and rest."

Matt hesitated a moment and then nodded. Gilbert wasn't even his close friend. And he'd just been anxious about being alone, he didn't want Matt's company specifically. Hell, he'd probably be alright with Dad sitting with him right now.

"Oh, wait." Matt called, hurrying to the counter where Dad had dropped his papers. "I came back for something."

"What are you doing?" Dad asked, coming over to make sure he wasn't doing something illegal again. He would probably never trust him again at this rate…

Matt dug through the papers until he found the folder he wanted. He pulled it open and flipped through the contents. "I just want this one paper… Ah hah!"

He pulled something out.

"You can't take something from a police file, Matt!" Dad said, sounding exasperated. "Put that back."

"It's not important, it's just a clipping." Matt said, ignoring him and walking back to Mr. Beilschmidt. He handed the paper to him. "Gilbert was asking about this. Can you give it to him?"

Matt watched Mr. Beilschmidt's eyebrows go up. Finally, he nodded.

"I vill make sure it gets to him."

"Thanks."

The door swung closed behind him.

"What was that?" Dad asked, annoyed that Matt had ignored him.

"The report about his parent's accident." Arthur said quietly.

"Oh."

"Come on, Matt." Arthur said, taking his arm gently and guiding him through the doors. "Let's get you home. I'll drive."

Matt nodded and allowed himself to be led into the parking lot.

"Night, Dad."

"Goodnight, kid."

* * *

Gilbert played with his IV tube absently, staring at the wall. The machines behind him were beeping non-stop, but he was used to it. It was even a little comforting. If he closed his eyes he could pretend he was back in the hospital when he'd just woken up, and Ludwig was sitting in the corner, like some weird guardian angel. He'd never admit it, much less to Ludwig, but it had been a huge comfort to have him there. Even if it meant he didn't get any sleep. Like nothing bad could happen as long as Ludwig was there to watch out for him.

He'd never really had anyone take care of him until a few months ago. Well, he had, but that was a long time ago and more recent memories seemed to cancel it out anyway. He'd always been watching out for Ludwig and taking care of Ludwig and making sure he was fed and clothed and had a fucking roof over his head and they had enough money and getting on him about his schoolwork even when he never did any himself and working extra hours to make sure he didn't have to wear thrift-store clothes while Gilbert wore gloves with holes in them and…

Gilbert rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. All he'd ever done his entire life was be angry at the world and try and keep it from fucking Ludwig up too. Like he could somehow protect his kid brother from all the shit that fell on his head. Even if he wasn't being sawn up (which Gilbert wasn't completely sure wouldn't happen), he was almost definitely being mistreated _somehow_. Were they feeding him? Was he locked up somewhere underground? Did he have a bed, a toilet? Were they hurting him?

And here he was, just lying in a hospital bed _again_ because he was a fucking idiot. He just couldn't keep himself in once piece, could he? Fuck, maybe he really _had_ crashed his bike…

The door open again and Gilbert looked up, relieved.

"Hey Matt, what took you so-" he cut himself off. "You're…not Matt."

"I am not." Granddad shut the door again behind him and continued to stand by the wall awkwardly. The similarities between him and Ludwig were almost enough to make Gilbert laugh.

Almost.

"What are you doing here?" Gilbert asked, although he didn't really care. He went back to staring at the ceiling.

"You should have called me, if you vere hurt."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because…" Granddad sighed and finally sat down in the chair Matt had vacated. "Because, Gilbert, I am your family, your only family. And family takes care of each other."

"Well I wouldn't know anything about family, would I?"

"You are determined to hate me."

"I never said I hated you."

"You did not have to." Granddad commented, almost offhandedly.

Gilbert said nothing.

"Like I said in Germany, I am sorry that I could not help you before. If I had known-"

"And why didn't you?" Gilbert interrupted angrily. They'd already _had_ this argument, he didn't want to relive it. He just wanted Granddad to leave.

"Your father and I were not speaking-"

"_Why_?"

Granddad sighed. "It seems very petty now."

"That's not an answer."

"Your friend vanted me to give you something." he said instead. He pulled something out of his coat pocket and unfolded it. "He said you asked for it."

Gilbert sat up slowly and took the paper from Granddad. His ribs were a little sore but the nurse from ER had been nice enough to add morphine to his IV line.

"A newspaper clipping?" Gilbert asked, unfolding it. "Why would I….oh."

Granddad was quiet while he read. It wasn't his parent's obituary, but it was close enough, certainly enough to close his throat for a moment.

"They mention you." he said finally.

"Do they?"

"They said our closest family was in Germany and that social services was trying to contact them but…" Gilbert stared at the picture at the top of the article, the picture of his parents.

"I never knew, Gilbert, I promise you." Granddad told him. Gilbert nodded. He wasn't sure if he believed him or if he was forgiving him at this point. Did it matter?

"You're wrong."

"Vhat?"

"About being my only family." Gilbert finally handed the clipping back to Granddad. He didn't want to look at it anymore. "You're wrong. Ludwig is my only family. He always has been. And he's the only person I'll ever trust."

"Understandably."

"And I need him back." Gilbert said determinedly. "I need to get him back."

"You vill see your brother again."

"I know I will." Gilbert said, laying down again. "I'll get him back. It's my job. It's my job to make sure he's okay."

"Rest, Gilbert." Granddad told him. "You vill see Ludwig again."

Gilbert, for once, did as he was told.


	21. How Not to Shoot a Gun: A Guide

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear _what?_" Gilbert asked, annoyed. He'd been _sleeping_…

"Something's at the window."

Gilbert groaned and sat up. "You're an idiot. There's nothing fucking there."

"You said the F-word." a squeaky voice informed him.

"Shut up, bitch." Gilbert snapped, amused by the younger kid's shyness around his vocabulary. "I'll say what I fucking want."

"Shut up, asshole." one of the older boys called. "Go check the window."

"Why don't you? I don't hear anything." Gilbert said angrily. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Go check or I'll tell Marian you were stealing food last week."

Gilbert debated this for a moment and finally gave in, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. The little boy in the next bed over watched him with wide eyes. He jumped at him and the kid yelped and dove back under his blankets. Gilbert chuckled.

He stumbled to the window and pulled back the curtains. It was raining outside.

"It's just the stupid rain." he called quietly. "I _told_ you there was nothing the-AURG!"

"What?" the stupid kid in the bed next to Gilbert's asked. "Is there someone out there?"

Gilbert stood, frozen, listening to his heart throb in his ears. He'd _sworn_ he'd seen something…Maybe it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, or-

Something moved and recognition drove him to hastily unbolt the lock on the window.

"What are you doing?" someone demanded.

"Shut up." he said sharply, pulling open the window. "Ludwig? What are you _doing_ here? I thought you were supposed to be with that foster couple-"

"I don't like them!" Ludwig said immediately, looking completely pathetic with his hair and clothes plastered to him in the rain. "I want to stay with you!"

Gilbert chewed his lip and glanced over his shoulder. Several other boys were watching him now.

"If Marian catches you-"

"I don't care!"

"Alright, fine!" Gilbert said, reaching through the window. "Just be quiet, all right?"

Ludwig nodded and grabbed Gilbert's arm. Gilbert pulled him inside.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Gilbert whispered angrily at him, shutting the window again. "Just tell the stupid couple you hate them and they'll ship you back here-"

"I did!" Ludwig's voice hadn't lowered at all. He was going to wake someone in the other rooms soon. If their roommates didn't.

"Okay, okay, be _quiet_." Gilbert insisted. He looked Ludwig over again. "You're filthy."

"I know." Ludwig said, watching him anxiously. "Don't make me go back. Please don't make me go back."

"I'm not making you go anywhere if you learn how to _whisper_." Gilbert said, lowering his voice even more as if he could somehow compensate for his brother's squeaky voice.

"Sorry." Ludwig's voice finally went down an octave. "I don't like this place. I want to go back to Mom and Dad."

Gilbert sighed and tried to ring Ludwig's clothes dry. "We can't."

"Why not?"

"We just can't!" Gilbert fought to keep his temper.

"I'm cold." Ludwig said, shivering.

Gilbert nodded. "Come here, idiot." He grabbed his brother's hand and quickly led him back to his bed.

"What are _you_ looking at?" he sneered at the kid in the next bed over. He quickly rolled over. Gilbert pulled the blanket off his bed and wrapped it around Ludwig.

"Now, why are you here, again?" he asked, settling them both on the now-bare bed.

"I don't like this place." Ludwig said. "I don't like Mr. and Mrs. Taylor."

"Why not?"

Ludwig rubbed his eye. "I don't like them."

Gilbert sighed, exasperated. "You can't just run away because you don't like them-"

"They're mean." Ludwig said, clutching the blanket closer as if it could protect him from whatever he was imagining.

"I know, Ludwig, bu-" Gilbert squinted at him. "Do you have a black eye?"

Ludwig rubbed his eye again. "I dunno. Maybe."

Gilbert pulled his hand away from his eye and looked at him in the faint light filtering through the window. "You do. Where'd you get a black eye, and…wha…you're covered in bruises."

Ludwig pulled the blanket tighter. "I don't like Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.

"They hit you?" Gilbert demanded, forgetting for a moment to keep his voice down. Several boys looked his way and he lowered his voice again, pulling the blanket back to look at Ludwig more clearly.

"What _is_ this? How much did they hit you?"

"They said I was bad." Ludwig said, still shivering.

"So they _hit_ you?" Gilbert asked, looking at Ludwig's arms. "Fuck that. Fuck _that_."

"Please don't make me go back!" Ludwig begged. "I don't want to go back!"

"Oh, like hell you're going back." Gilbert said, dropping his brother's arm again. "I'll fucking kill them…those…who fosters a kid to hit them? Don't they…check these bastards out?"

"I had a foster family that beat me with a cane." One boy told them from two beds down. "They said it built character."

"I'll build character on their faces, they can't _do_ that." Gilbert said, voice rising. "No fucking way, I'll kill the-"

Ludwig suddenly wrapped his arms around Gilbert's middle, burying his face in his shirt.

"I missed you." he squeaked into his chest.

Gilbert hesitated, and then hugged him back, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders again.

"I missed you too, kid." he muttered. "I promise they won't pull some shit like that again. They won't separate us anymore."

Ludwig nodded and kept his hold on Gilbert, as if he didn't believe him and thought he could keep them together through sheer force.

"Doesn't matter." one of the older boys called. "They'll stick you both wherever the fuck they want."

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Gilbert snapped.

"You don't." the kid told him. "We're like diseased cattle. If they can get rid of us before our time is up they will."

"Fuck that." Gilbert told him, adjusting the now-soaked blanket around Ludwig. "Just fuck that."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Gilbert chewed his lip for a moment and then detached Ludwig from his shirt. Ludwig made a noise of protest.

"I'm getting the fuck out of here. To hell with this place."

"Gilbert wait-!" Ludwig said anxiously, following as Gilbert disentangled himself from the bed and blanket.

"Hush!" He turned and clamped a hand over Ludwig's mouth. "Do you want to go back to Mr. and Mrs. Taylor?"

Ludwig shook his head.

"Then don't make any noise and follow me." Gilbert whispered.

"Where are we going?" Ludwig asked as soon as Gilbert removed his hand.

"Home." The word was out of his mouth before he understood it, but he knew it was true. "We're going back home."

Ludwig nodded, following him to the door. "Do you know how to get there?"

"No."

"How long will it take?"

"I don't know."

"Do you have any money?"

"No."

There was a pause as the weight of his words sank in. Gilbert hesitated with his hand on the door, thinking. Thinking if it was better to stay here where there was food and warmth and someone to take care of him or to take his little brother outside in the rain, where the only person who could protect him was…well…Gilbert.

"I trust you, brother." Ludwig said, as if listening to the internal conflict in Gilbert's head. He grabbed Gilbert's hand, crushing it with some mix of love and terror. "I trust you."

Gilbert nodded and opened the door.

* * *

Sunlight filtered through the hospital curtains, washing over the smooth outlines of the machines that continued to tell him that yes, his heart was beating, and his lungs were still functioning properly, and, whatever else, he was still alive.

He listened to the beeping that told him so. The steady, sterile drip and wurr that meant he was safe, for now, at least, to accent his wandering thoughts of Ludwig. Of Ludwig, who was not the little boy in his memories, and now his dreams, apparently, but might as well be. Gilbert turned his head to see if Granddad had stayed the night to find that he hadn't. He wasn't sure why this surprised him so much. He'd never expected Granddad to come in the first place. Maybe because he had Gilbert had let loose some fantasy that he might actually care. Not that it mattered.

He carefully sat up, relieved when his rib gave him no trouble. It was probably just the morphine, but he felt better than he had in days. He looked at the window.

What time was it? Immediately Gilbert felt for his phone only to find that the thin hospital gown lacked pockets and, thus, his cell phone. He eyed the phone attached to the wall and debated using it. What time _was_ it, anyway? Why wasn't there a clock in here? Who the fuck built a hospital without a clock?

He finally tugged the phone from the wall and punched in Matt's number. Well it was Alfred's number he remembered, but Matt lived there too.

"..'lo?"

"Damn, Matt, you sound worse than I do." Gilbert laughed.

"Don't talk so loud." Matt groaned. Gilbert heard the distant sound of a toilet flushing.

"I didn't realize you drank so much."

"I didn't either." Matt mumbled. "I don't actually remember anymore."

"What _do_ you remember?"

"I remember screaming at Roderich and you falling down the stairs."

"As long as you still have the key points to the evening."

"You're okay, right? You didn't like, fuck yourself over again?"

"Yeah, yeah." Gilbert sighed. "So I assume you don't have any news?"

"Just that my toilet apparently backs up if you flush it more than once in an hour." Matt said. "I haven't heard anything. I think Arthur is still with Dad."

"Do you know what time it is?"

Matt groaned again and there was a dragging sound on the other end of the phone.

"I think the clock said nine. Or maybe ten. I don't know."

Gilbert chuckled. "Hey, I know you feel like shit, but could you give me a ride home later? Turns out they don't give you your license back when you're legally brain damaged."

"I do-hang on." Gilbert winced and held the phone away from his ear as Matt returned to the toilet. One nauseatingly vivid episode later Matt picked up the phone again.

"I dunno. Maybe." he mumbled. "Isn't your Granddad there?"

"He was." Gilbert muttered. "Hey, if you can't get here it's cool. I'll get a bus or something."

"No, no, that's stupid. What time are they releasing you?" Matt asked, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself he wasn't dying.

"I have no idea. Sometime this afternoon I think."

"Call me when you know." Matt said groggily. "I'm gonna go take a shower so I don't smell like vomit."

"Don't take the shower until you're done vomiting." Gilbert advised.

"Later, Gilbert."

* * *

Alfred flinched as the door was thrown open. It ricocheted against the wall and The Emperor came storming in. It took Alfred a minute to realize he was bleeding.

"Up!" he roared. "Both of you! You're far more trouble than you're worth!"

Ivan slid inside and closed the door behind The Emperor.

"Stupidity runs in both of your families, doesn't it?" The Emperor continued, ranting now. "Destroying my merchandise, injuring my grandson, threatening _me_... I am done with both of you! Up! _Up_! Ivan?"

Alfred quickly scrambled to his feet, eager to keep out of Ivan's path. He turned his attention instead to Ludwig, who was decidedly not moving.

"Beilschmidt, do not tempt me today." The Emperor barked. "I will send you through Processing, I am very much done with you."

Again, Ludwig didn't move. Ivan grabbed his arm roughly and jerked him upright, and Alfred saw a brief grimace on his face before it was replaced with anger and he jerked away from the towering Russian.

"Where are you taking us now?" Ludwig asked.

"_You_ are going to a much higher priority holding facility." The Emperor said, waiting impatiently as Ivan pushed Ludwig towards the door. Alfred followed quickly. "Your friend here, Mr. Jones, is being processed."

Alfred froze.

"Wait." he said hurriedly. "You don't want to do that. I can…I can be useful! Please don't!" Alfred winced. He was begging for his life. This was humiliating.

The Emperor paused, looking Alfred over. "Well, you have proven very resilient…and you're damaged at this point, not to mention whatever those American drugs have done to your system…I could use you…"

"How?" Alfred asked eagerly. "What do you want?" If he could just get out of here, he could find Dad and…

"I need another collector, someone more adapted to the American streets." The Emperor said, looking at Alfred more closely now. "Yes, that might do-"

"You want me to bring people here to die?" Alfred interrupted.

"It would spare your life." The Emperor reminded him. "For now, at least."

It was tempting, maybe he could just escape…but… "No! I won't help you and your stupid 'collecting'!" Alfred said determinedly. He would go out with dignity, not creeping away like some double-double-crosser. "My Dad'll make sure you get behind bars and stay there!"

The Emperor shrugged. "Well I never really liked you anyway. Far too American for my tastes. Ivan?"

They were led to the door again, Ludwig with some encouragement, mostly in the form of kicking.

"I'll be glad when I'm done with you both… And then I'll focus on your friends…a flight of stairs, really-"

"Brother_s_?" Ludwig asked, coming to life again. "As in, more than one?"

The Emperor seemed to have caught his mistake. "Brother, of course. I forget who I've processed, a lot of faces-"

"Who's your grandson?" Ludwig insisted.

"That's hardly-"

"WHO IS HE?" Ludwig shouted, pulling against Ivan's grip. Ivan, for his part, didn't fight very hard to keep it. Ludwig's arms swung around The Emperor's neck and the chain holding his wrists together clamped down on his windpipe.

Alfred took the brief distraction to pull at Ivan's scarf. It seemed weird that someone who dealt with desperate people every day wore a scarf all the time, but Alfred decided not to question it. Ivan pulled instinctively at the cloth and Alfred pushed him through the door.

"Ludwig!" he shouted, grabbing hold of the door. But they were on the wrong side, and Ivan was outside, and-

Ludwig shoved The Emperor through the door as well and slammed it shut.

"What are you doing?" Alfred demanded.

"Hold this!" Ludwig said hurriedly, and Alfred put his weight against the door, keeping it shut. Ludwig dove at the boxes again, tearing them apart.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked again, hysterical now. Ludwig might be suicidal but _he_ didn't want to fucking die…

"It's here somewhere!" Ludwig said. "I know it is! You keep ammo where you keep guns, it's the only thing that makes sense-"

"Not this again!" Alfred said, fighting the door as something slammed into his. His shoulder was bleeding again. "Ludwig, what if you're wrong?"

"Then we're both dead, aren't we?" Ludwig pulled at the box they'd opened before, shaking packing material off the glimmering rifles.

"I really don't wanna die." Alfred told him, wincing as the door thudded into him. "And I don't know how to work those-"

"Pull the stupid trigger and don't aim at me!" Ludwig told him, still hunting through boxes. "What is…oh, more Spam. What the hell is with the Spam?"

"Hurry up!" Alfred shouted, feeling his feet slip on the dirty floor. The hinges were starting to rattle.

"I'm trying!" Ludwig tore apart another box with some difficulty. "Come on.."

"If we die, I'm blaming you!" Alfred said, scrambling for a foothold.

"You were going to die anyway." Ludwig reminded him. "Come on, come _on_!"

The door rattled and Alfred struggled against it. "Hurry up! I can't keep them out much longer!"

"I'm trying!" Ludwig said anxiously, digging through the crates. "It's here somewhere!"

"What if you're wrong?"

"Then we're fucked!" Ludwig shouted. "Hold the fucking door!"

Alfred grunted as the door slammed again. "The hinges are gonna bust!"

"Just hang on!"

Alfred's feet slid in the dust and he fought to keep the door from being thrown open. "Hurry up, Ludwig!" he said through his teeth.

"I'm trying!" Ludwig shouted desperately. "just-"

Alfred's foot slipped and the hinges on the door popped free.

* * *

"So where's your granddad, anyway?" Matt asked, signing the last of the release forms a nurse was handing him. He gave her back her clipboard and she smiled at him.

"Dunno." Gilbert shrugged, taking the pills the nurse handed him.

"Take those-"

"Yeah, yeah, pills, instructions on the bottle." Gilbert interrupted. "I'll figure it out."

They pushed their way through the revolving doors and onto the street. Matt's car waited a few feet away, glimmering in the morning sunlight.

"Pretty bright day for December." he muttered.

"Oh, that's right, it's December, isn't it?" Matt asked, unlocking his door. Gilbert jumped over his and fell into his seat.

"Yup." Gilbert scratched absently at his dirty clothes. He really needed a shower…he still sort of smelled like vomit…

"Almost Christmas." Matt commented.

"Yup."

Matt shook his head and started the car. "What do you guys usually do for Christmas?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Usually we just exchange stupid gifts with each other. Sometimes we order takeout. You know, change of pace from ramen."

Matt sighed. "Yeah, me and Alfred…well recently we've been doing pretty much the same thing."

"Think it'll change 'cause of this?"

Matt shrugged. "Who knows? Dad might just go home as soon as Alfred's safe and sulk some more. What about you and your Granddad?"

"Who the fuck knows." Gilbert muttered. "Maybe we'll be best friends. But he'll probably just fly back to Germany and be an ass some more."

Matt's phone rang and he glanced down. "Damn it, I hate talking and driving…" he reaching down carefully and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Hello?"

There was a pause and Matt slowed at a stop sign. Gilbert listened half-heartedly to the buzzing conversation on the other end.

"Wait, what?" Matt demanded, ignoring the stop sign and the moron in the car behind them growing more and more aggravated with their lack of movement.

Gilbert watched him distractedly.

"What do you _mean_-…but you know where they are?"

Gilbert was suddenly paying attention again. He leaned in to the conversation and Matt held the phone out for him to hear.

"Where are they?"

"Well it's kind of weird but-"

"Where the fuck is my brother?" Gilbert demanded. Matt hushed him.

"Uhh…do you guys know that convenience store down the street from the arts building?"

* * *

Alfred scrambled away from the door.

"Ludwig!"

"I know, I know!" Ludwig shouted. Dust and sawdust from the destroyed crates filled the air and made it hard to see through. Alfred dodged an arm without knowing whose it was.

"Ludwig!" Alfred shouted again, coughing. "Where the fuck are you?"

"Here!" Ludwig called from the other side of the room. Alfred dove towards the sound but something caught his arm.

"Maybe I should just take care of business here and now." The Emperor snarled at him, crushing his arm. Alfred yelped and struggled against him, but he had a grip on his bad arm and whichever way he twisted tore open his shoulder further. Something cold pressed to his chin and Alfred realized there was a gun pointed at him. What had Dad said to do if this happened? Alfred could swear he'd told him something…

Something from the other side of the room gave a loud click and The Emperor froze. Both he and Alfred turned to watch through the clearing dust as Ludwig snapped the barrel of the gun he was holding back into place, face set.

"Drop him." Ludwig said.

"And what if you're too slow?" The Emperor asked, cocking the gun under Alfred's chin. "And don't forget Ivan. Put the gun down and I'll consider shipping you back to your grandfather in one piece."

Ludwig kept the gun trained on The Emperor. Alfred's mind had frozen shut. There had to be some way out of this…there _had_ to be. He was so close…he wasn't going to die down here…he wasn't. He wasn't!

Some switch in his mind flipped again. The Emperor was looking away from him, wasn't paying attention to him. He ducked and grabbed The Emperor's arm, shoving it towards the wall. Some mix of anger and surprise flexed The Emperor's finger and the gun fired harmlessly into the wall.

"Ludwig, run!" Alfred coughed while The Emperor fought with him over the gun.

"What?"

"Go! Run! Go find help!" Alfred shouted. He was stronger than The Emperor, but The Emperor had the befit of actually knowing what he was doing. He could have let go, but that would mean Ludwig couldn't escape, and Alfred wasn't about to sacrifice someone else to run away.

"But-"

"Go!" Alfred told him. Ivan was still in here somewhere. It was only a matter of time before he became a problem too.

The gun was between them. The slightest slip from either of them and the gun would be in the perfect position to blow open a new body piercing. Alfred felt sweat gathering on his fingers, they would slip any second now, any second-

There was a sudden, sharp, crack and the jolt of surprise and fear it caused sent Alfred's fingers just past the point of no return. They slid over the edge of the barrel and the force of their struggles, unconstrained, sent the end of the gun into his stomach.

The gun fired.

* * *

Matt slammed the door behind him, checking just once to be sure Gilbert was following him. Dad stood at the door of the convenience store Matt had probably been in all of once. He grimaced and took a deep breath from the cigarette in his hand.

"Since when do you smoke?" Matt asked.

Dad shook his head and put the cigarette out on the side of the brick building. "I don't."

"So why are we here?" Gilbert asked, rubbing his fractured rib. "Unless Ludwig and Alfred are now cans of Spam?"

"Your grandfather, actually." Dad said. "We have a report of someone matching his description picking the lock on this building just a few minutes ago."

Matt looking through the glass doors. "He's not inside…"

"Of course he isn't, or I would have brought him back outside." Dad told him. "The question being why he picked the lock in the first place."

He looked at Gilbert, as if he would know, and Gilbert shrugged.

"Maybe he had a craving for Spam? Do they have Spam in Germany? I don't even know-"

Gilbert stopped abruptly.

"Was that…" Arthur said slowly.

"That wasn't a gunshot, was it?" Matt asked anxiously.

Dad pulled his own gun from his belt and tried the door. It swung open easily, unlocked.

"You kids stay here." He said quickly. "Or, better yet, get out of here. Call the station."

"Oh, like hell." Gilbert said.

"Stay." Dad said firmly, checking his gun. Matt wasn't really sure what he was doing, he'd never paid nearly as much attention to guns as Alfred. "No one play hero. Matt, take my phone and call the station, the number should be on it."

Matt took the phone and Dad vanished inside. He looked at the phone and then at Gilbert and Arthur.

"All for following him?" Gilbert asked.

"I." Arthur said quickly.

"I." Gilbert nodded. They looked at Matt.

"Dad…Dad told us…" Matt looked between them. "Uh…but"

They stared at him. He bit his lip and finally gave in.

"I..."

"Excellent." Gilbert said, and pushed the door open.

* * *

"Alfred!" Ludwig watched Alfred lose his balance and fall, clinging to the red stain spreading on his shirt. Ludwig clamped his hands on the gun he held, the gun that wasn't even loaded. The Emperor looked up and brushed his hands on his shirt, as if disgusted at the thought of Alfred touching him.

Before either of them had a time to do anything, their attention was drawn to the doorway, where Ivan collapsed, either unconscious or dead, Ludwig didn't know.

"G...Granddad?" Ludwig asked in disbelief.

The Emperor turned to face the doorway, face contorted with rage.

"Do you know how long it'll take me to replace him?" The Emperor demanded, apparently talking about Ivan.

"Relax." Granddad said calmly. "He is unconscious, not dead. Vhich is more than I can say for you."

The Emperor laughed. "You'd kill an old friend? Come, now, haven't we been through worse together-"

"You killed my son." Granddad said bluntly. "You tried very hard to kill both of my grandsons. That is not something ve can move past, Roderich."

"I wasn't going to kill him." The Emperor scoffed. "A trade, nothing more, you know that-"

"And my son?" Granddad asked. "Gilbert, and his _wife_? It wasn't your car that sent theirs off the road?"

"An accident, nothing more." The Emperor said nervously. "You know these things happen. You can't possibly think I would actually kill-"

A gunshot. Ludwig hadn't even realized Granddad had moved. The Emperor fell to the floor, where Ludwig could see the clean, sharp hole between his eyes.

* * *

"Ludwig!" Gilbert pushed past the frustrated Mr. Jones and Granddad, rushing across the room and collapsing into his little brother. "Ludwig, you're okay…you're okay…"

After a moment, Ludwig responded, letting go of the rifle in his hands and pulling Gilbert into a rough hug.

"You're alive…" he said after a moment.

"Of course I'm alive." Gilbert said, pulling away for a moment to look at him, to make sure that he really was okay. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"They said…" Ludwig trailed off. He pulled Gilbert into a hug again. "You're _alive_…"

"You scared the crap out of me." Gilbert mumbled into his filthy shirt. "Don't you fucking _ever_ scare me like that again. _Ever_."

"I'm sorry, Gilbert."

Gilbert laughed and wiped his eyes on Ludwig's shirt discretely. "Oh my God…Are you really okay? You're not hurt, are you?"

"Just a few bruises…" Ludwig looked up again, across the room.

Gilbert looked too. Oh, God, Alfred…

"Is he okay?" he asked anxiously, pulling away from Ludwig at last. He felt Ludwig wobble uncertainly and ducked under his arm again.

Mr. Jones carefully lifted Alfred from the floor, ignoring Arthur trying to calm the hysterical Matt.

"He'll be fine." he said, but his voice shook. He glanced in the corner, and then at Granddad.

"It was self-defense." he told him. "I saw it with my own eyes."

Granddad nodded. "Thank you."


	22. I'll Be Back…Someday

"Really weird, being on this end of the pity." Gilbert said, looking around the hospital room.

"Flowers? Really?" Ludwig chuckled.

"They're from Elizabeta." Gilbert said setting them on the nightstand. "I will never understand her…"

"So you're speaking again?"

"Define 'speaking'." Gilbert said, settling in the chair by Ludwig's bed and scratching his scar.

"How'd she give you the flowers?"

"Well it was more of a 'these are for your brother' than an actual sentence…" Gilbert said. "It's the thought that counts, right?"

"Isn't that a sentence?"

"That depends entirely on how you say it." Gilbert clarified. "I think your room is bigger than mine was."

"Does it matter?" Ludwig asked. "You were in bed most of the time."

"Well so are you." Gilbert said, looking at the stats and monitors. "You know if you hold your breath this changes?"

"I'll take your word on that."

Gilbert chuckled and listened to the reassuring beep of Ludwig's heartbeat. Somehow, that sound wasn't quite as annoying when it was Ludwig's.

"So how's Alfred?"

"Oh, he's fine." Gilbert said dismissively. "It's been four days and they've already got him on a liquid diet. Sitting up and everything. Bastard is built like an ox. Cocky, too. Like being shot is some great achievement."

"I'm sure he sees it as one." Ludwig said, grinning.

"Well it is Alfred." Gilbert said.

"What about his dad?"

"As Arthur refuses to leave the room he's been moving between stages of depression and fury when he isn't thrilled his son isn't dead." Gilbert said. "Which reminds me, when can I let Feliciano in the room? He's driving me absolutely crazy."

Ludwig sighed. "Can't he wait until I'm out of the hospital, at least?"

Gilbert paused. "We're talking about the same Feliciano, right? The one downstairs bursting into tears every few minutes and then using it as a means to flirt with nurses?"

"Yeah, that one." Ludwig laughed. "Just…wait until I'm clothed."

"I don't what you have against those gowns." Gilbert snickered. "I found them rather freeing-"

"Shut up."

Gilbert picked at the flowers on Ludwig's nightstand.

"Have you been going to therapy?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Ludwig, no, I haven't. Understandably."

"They said if you keep going you might be able to sign up next semester-"

"I can't sign up next semester." Gilbert interrupted, looking very determinedly at the flowers.

"Well you can take remedial classes, just to get started." Ludwig reasoned. "And for money…Granddad-"

"No." Gilbert said. "I can't take classes next semester. Because I won't be here."

Ludwig paused. "And where…will you be?"

Petals swirled to the floor. "Germany."

There was a moment of silence.

"Why?"

Gilbert shook his head. "Granddad wants me to go back to Germany with him. Just until I'm…better, you know? He doesn't trust American hospitals or some bullshit like that."

"Just you?"

"He said you should stay here and finish your education." Gilbert said. "He'll pay for it. Take whatever classes you want, take something really expensive."

"What if I want to come back to Germany with you and finish my education there?" Ludwig demanded.

"It's only going to be for a few months, Ludwig." Gilbert said, still looking very determinedly at the flowers. "You'll be fine. You're a grown man, you can survive a few months without me."

Ludwig was quiet. Gilbert completely destroyed one flower and moved on to another. "I'm a grown man too, we can't just stay together forever. Get a date or something, Luddy. Pretend you're a human being for once."

"How many months?"

Gilbert shrugged. "A semester. Maybe more. He said he'll let me come home to see the wedding."

"Can't you tell him no?" Ludwig insisted. "The hospitals are fine here, it's-"

"He's paying for your school." Gilbert said, and suddenly he was the responsible adult here, telling Ludwig why he had to wear ripped clothes to school.

"He's not going to if you don't go with him back to Germany?" Ludwig demanded.

"I didn't want to push it." Gilbert said. "If we can get on his good side…Granddad's really, really rich. And I don't know about you, but I still don't know how we're paying for my medical bills."

"He's paying for my school but not your medical bills." Ludwig said angrily.

"He didn't mention." Gilbert sighed. "Look, Ludwig, I'll be back at the end of the semester. That's like five months."

"And what if he makes you come back to Germany after the wedding?" Ludwig asked.

Gilbert shook his head again. "I don't know, Ludwig, but…please, okay? Just…I'm not happy about it either. I don't want to move to fucking Germany. Fuck Europe. But I don't have a choice, and neither do you. I'll be back in five months, and I don't leave until after Christmas anyway. That's two weeks from now. I mean…I can still call and stuff. Maybe he'll let me visit, too."

"What if you don't want to come home?" Ludwig asked.

"Don't be stupid." Gilbert said, looking up finally. "Of course I'll want to come home. I don't want to go in the first place."

Ludwig stared at the flowers too.

"Please, Ludwig." Gilbert begged. "Just...this sucks, okay? It sucks. Don't make it fucking harder."

Ludwig sighed and looked at Gilbert again, finally. "Fine. Have fun in Germany."

Gilbert smiled half-heartedly and hugged Ludwig the best he could while the latter was laying down. "I'll miss you like crazy."

"I'll miss you too."

Gilbert pulled away and shoved the remaining uncertainty and frustration over his trip to the back of his mind. "But that isn't for two weeks. The doctor said you're getting out in a few more days at most, and I know Elizabeta's planning some giant feast-type-thing for Christmas. Her dad is flying to Europe because…well actually I don't care, and it sounds like most of us are trapped here for the holidays."

"Oh, good, it's like Thanksgiving all over again." Ludwig chuckled. Gilbert grinned.

"How much do you want to bet Alfred'll still eat the most?"

"He has a bullet in his stomach."

"He's also Alfred."

Ludwig laughed and nodded. "Yeah. He's also Alfred."

* * *

Alfred flipped impatiently through the channels.

"Why is there nothing _good_ on?" he demanded, punching the _Channel Up_ button repeatedly.

"Because you're in a hospital." Arthur pointed out tiredly, fighting back a yawn. "There's never good TV in a hospital."

Alfred grumbled and tossed the remote to the end of his bed. "Stupid hospital. Let's go to Gilbert's place, he has cable.."

"Again, Alfred, you're in a hospital." Arthur explained. "This isn't a sleepover, you can't just _leave-_"

"But it's boring!" Alfred whined. "I hate it here..."

"Play your Gameboy." Matt mumbled, face buried in Alfred's blankets.

"I beat that game like three times." Alfred said grumpily. He looked between Arthur and Matt. "You guys can go home and sleep, you know. You look terrible."

"So do you." Matt said automatically. He turned his head to look at Alfred. "The chair isn't that bad…"

Alfred scoffed. "I'm gonna make Dad take you home soon. Have you even slept in the last two weeks?"

"Have you?" Matt retaliated.

Alfred thought on that. "No…wait…does being unconscious count? Anyway, I've been sleeping in the hospital."

Matt mumbled something and turned his head back down into the blankets.

"Okay, fine, do me a favor." Alfred said. "Go find that game I hid last month. I think I put it behind the toilet. It'll probably take you all night to find it so don't bother coming back until morning."

Matt yawned. "Haha. No."

"Please, Matt?" Alfred begged. "I really want that game…Please? Please? Please? Plea-"

"Fine!" Matt stood suddenly. "I'll be back tomorrow, okay? Don't do something fucking stupid while I'm gone!"

"Goodnight, Matt!" Alfred called good-naturedly as he pushed the door open and stormed through.

"Don't think you'll get rid of me so easily." Arthur warned, adjusting his pillow.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Alfred said innocently. He pulled Arthur's collar and pressed their lips together, the best he could do, since he couldn't sit up on his own.

Arthur jerked back in surprise but Alfred's hand kept him in place, and after a moment of surprise he relaxed into the kiss, brushing his fingers through Alfred's hair.

Alfred broke the kiss at last, letting go of Arthur's shirt. Arthur paused, out of breath, face inches from Alfred's.

"What was that?"

"My answer."

"To what?"

"You told me to let you know when I knew if I wanted to be with you again." Alfred said. "Now I know."

"It only took a near-death experience to figure that out?" Arthur chuckled.

"Matt said you wouldn't leave Dad alone the whole time." Alfred said. "You wouldn't have put up with him for so long unless you were really scared for me."

"Of course I was scared." Arthur's cheeks were tinted red. "I thought you were dead-"

"Stop ruining it." Alfred said sternly. "I said yes. I want to give us another chance. Just go with it."

Arthur laughed. "Fine, then."

"Now lay down." Alfred said. "You look like you're going to pass out."

"I'm fine." Arthur insisted. "And your dad could just show up any second, he-"

"Fuck Dad." Alfred said sternly. "I just want you to lie down because you're tired. There is nothing sexual about this situation, gay or otherwise."

"It's a little gay."

"I'd do it with Gilbert."

"Exactly."

Alfred laughed and pulled on Arthur's collar again. "Lay down!"

"Fine." Arthur finally gave in and very carefully slid into the gap between Alfred and the edge of the bed. Alfred determinedly wrapped his arm around Arthur, trapping him in place. Arthur chuckled.

"So are we boyfriend and boyfriend now?"

"Who cares." Arthur mumbled, already half asleep.

"Well you did…"

"Do you want to be together or not?"

"Fine then. We're boyfriends now." Alfred said.

"'love you, Freddie." Arthur said, curling closer. A moment later he was asleep.

Alfred laughed quietly, careful not to wake him up.

"I love you too, Arthur."

* * *

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

The collective noise in the bar was enough to rattle the bottles lining the bar. After thorough assurance that both Roderich and his father were, in fact, innocent to all the illegal activities of their late namesake, Alfred and Matt had returned to work. Well, Matt had, Alfred still had a few weeks before he would be up to working again. But Mr. Edelstein had promised him a job and a raise.

_And_ his own key. Alfred laughed and practically threw his glass against his brother's, sloshing beer on the counter he was sitting on.

"Merry fucking Christmas, Matt!" he shouted over the noise.

"It's Christmas Eve." Matt pointed out, grinning over his glass.

"Same thing!" Alfred said, draining his drink. "Best Christmas Eve yet."

"You've got lead in your stomach." Gilbert pointed out.

"Don't ruin my fun." Alfred said stubbornly, pulling the tap out from under the counter. They had _taps_ now. Somehow getting kidnapped had made his boss the best boss in the entire world.

"You're lucky you're such a beast." Gilbert laughed, drinking some diluted mix of alcohol and non-alcoholic drink so his meds wouldn't kill him. Or something like that, this wasn't Alfred's first beer. "If you had any less muscle that bullet would have torn right through your stomach. You wouldn't be eating for weeks."

Alfred shuddered. "Don't even say that!"

Gilbert laughed. "Has anyone seen Ludwig?"

"He was over there." Alfred said, pointing from his vantage point on the counter. "Hey… HEY LUDWIG…nah he can't hear me from here. The leach is attached to him though."

"I leave them alone then." Gilbert chuckled. "I don't know how he stands Feliciano for so long."

"Hey, come on, Feliciano is a nice guy…" Alfred said.

"Oh, very nice." Gilbert nodded. "And _incredibly_ annoying in large doses. I respect Ludwig's stamina, is all."

"Can I have this?" Arthur asked, pulling something from the shelves behind the bar.

"No." Alfred and Matt called.

"What about this?"

"Come have some of my beer, Artie." Alfred laughed. He reached over and pulled Arthur's jacket towards him.

"Hey, wait-!" Arthur struggled to keep his balance.

"Come on, have _beer_…" Alfred swirled the glass in front of him. Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed it, taking a long drink of it.

"Hey, not all of it!" Alfred protested. Too late, Arthur finally released the glass as the last of the drink vanished. He grinned at Alfred mischievously.

"Give that back." Alfred said, kissing him to get the last taste of beer from his mouth. Gilbert and Matt made retching noises. "Oh, shut up." Alfred told them, pulling away at last. "You're just jealous because you're not getting any."

"Fuck off." Gilbert said good-naturedly. He glanced over his shoulder and immediately pushed through the crowd to the other side of the bar. "You didn't see me!"

Almost immediately, his place was taken by Francis and Antonio.

"Have you seen-"

"I haven't seen him." Alfred said, pointing after Gilbert. Antonio snickered and they followed their target eagerly.

"Some friend you are." Matt laughed.

"Whatever they're planning, it's hysterical." Alfred reasoned. Matt scoffed and turned to continue bartending. He wasn't technically on duty tonight. In fact, the bar wasn't technically open tonight, but Mr. Edelstein had given them permission to use the bar and whatever resources it contained as long as he and Matt were the only ones behind the bar.

"How are you feeling, Alfred?"

Alfred turned and smiled. "Oh, hey Katyusha." He said brightly. "Fucking awesome, and yourself?"

She smiled and then immediately bit her lip nervously, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "I just wanted to apologize for Ivan! I didn't realize he was involved in such…I'm just really sorry!"

Alfred laughed. "Hey, no worries, right?" He reached under the bar again and refilled his glass with tap. "'s he still behind bars?"

Katyusha nodded sadly.

"Well then life is good." Alfred said brightly. "Have a beer, Katyusha. And have you met my brother? He's nearly as cute as me."

"Who are you bragging to now?" Matt asked, trying to get some dried, sticky blemish off the counter.

"Katyusha." Alfred said, pulling Matt's chin up.

"Who...oh. Hi."

"Hi." Katyusha giggled, tears gone.

Matt was silent for a moment.

"He's trying to remember how to ask if you want a drink." Alfred told her helpfully.

Matt smacked him, coming back down to Earth. "Shut up Alfred. But...uh…would you like a drink?"

"Sure." Katyusha said, following him farther down the bar, where they wouldn't be bothered by Alfred.

"Setting your brother up?" Arthur asked.

"He needs to get laid."

"You're very concerned about his sex life."

"If he's fucking in _her_ apartment _ours_ is free…"

Arthur laughed. "Of course."

Gilbert stumbled into the bar, shaking water (or at least, it might have been water) out of his hair.

"Fucking traitor." he growled at Alfred.

"Did Francis and Antonio give you your Christmas present?" Alfred asked innocently.

"Yes." Gilbert said, snatching the towel from the counter and scrubbing his hair with it. "And my going-away present."

"That reminds me." Alfred leaned back to reach under the counter and winced. "Arthur, grab that box there."

"This one?"

"What other box do you see?" Alfred said impatiently. Arthur grumbled something and pulled the box up onto the counter with a grunt. Alfred grabbed it eagerly and pushed it towards Gilbert. "This is for you."

"Wha…why?" Gilbert asked, dropping the towel.

"Because I won't see you for five months and I have to be sure you're thinking of me!" Alfred said insistently. "Now open it! It's your Christmas/Going Away/I Fucking Love You Man gift."

"What was that last one?" Gilbert asked, pulling the box closer and picking at the wrapping paper.

"Shut up and open it!" Alfred said eagerly. Gilbert rolled his eyes and finally got a grip on the paper. He tore it off.

"A case of beer?"

"No, a case of _non-alcoholic_ beer." Alfred corrected.

"Why do I want non-alcoholic beer?"

"Because you can drink it!" Alfred said eagerly. "And it doesn't react with your meds! I tried it man, it tastes pretty damn good."

Gilbert grinned and pulled a bottle out. "Are you serious?"

"Fuck yeah!" Alfred said, taking a swig of his own beer.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Matt does the restock ordering and I was looking through the stuff you can get and they had this stuff on the list." Alfred said happily. "I asked Mr. Edelstein and he let me order a case through him. We might start getting it so I can send you more later."

Gilbert laughed and popped the top of the bottle open on the counter, taking a drink.

"That's awesome!"

"I know!"

"I fucking love you, you bastard!" Gilbert said, hugging him.

* * *

"I'm gonna be late."

Ludwig finally let go of him and nodded. "You sure you're okay to fly by yourself?"

"Jesus, West, give me some credit." Gilbert scoffed, straightening his jacket.

"Do you have your ticket?"

"Yes."

"Did you put your meds in your carry on?"

"Yes."

"Do you have the chart I gave you on when to take them?"

"Yes."

"Did you set the alarm on your phone to remind you to take them at-"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Gilbert said impatiently. "I _got_ it, Ludwig."

Ludwig sighed. "I'm just making sure you're not going to kill yourself.

"Ha ha." Gilbert shifted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "I'll be fine."

"Dude, I'm gonna miss you so much!" Alfred said, grabbing him from behind and crushing him a hug. "Why do you have to go to Germany? Can't you stay here?"

"We've had this conversation." Gilbert coughed.

Alfred released him and stared at him sadly. "But…I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too." Gilbert promised. "And you have to send me more of that non-alcoholic stuff."

"Yes, sir!" Alfred laughed. He sighed and returned to his previous depressed state. "It's gonna be so _boring_ here…"

"Chill, Fred, I'll be back." Gilbert told him. He struggled to listen to the voice on the loudspeaker. "I think that's my flight." he said, pulling away. "I have to go-"

"Bye, Gilbert!" Alfred said enthusiastically as he stumbled towards the gate. His walking had improved enough that the hospital had told him he wasn't in need of therapy sessions anymore. Which was completely awesome. Plus his headaches were going away, something about the skull fracture finally healing.

He smiled and handed the woman at the gate his ticket. She checked it and then waved him through. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder, at Alfred, who was waving, and Matt, who was trying to calm him down enough to sit back in his wheelchair, at Ludwig, who was smiling unconvincingly, and Feliciano, attached to his arm and waving too, and at Elizabeta, who had come, to his surprise, to offer a mumbled good-bye and a brief hug.

He grinned back at them and waved before they ushered him through the gate and onto the plane. He'd flown plenty during his trip to Europe. This ride would be shorter, one plane to the East coast, and then another from New York to Berlin. He checked his ticket and found his seat, in first class, since Granddad was paying for it. A window seat. At least his luck was good.

One of the attendants helped him shove his carry-on bag in the over-head compartments, with the promise that someone would come back to help him get it down when he needed to take his pills. He collapsed into his seat, staring out the window idly. He knew Ludwig would stay until the plane had taken off, and probably Alfred too. Elizabeta, he was less sure about. He'd been surprised to see her at all. She'd been determinedly avoiding him since their little episode together.

He sighed. Maybe there was something to be said for running away from problems. The next time he would see her would probably be for her wedding. He wondered if they'd ever go back to being friends. Or if the awkwardness would at least go away.

Someone paused at his row and struggled with the overhead compartment. He turned to look.

"You have to pull the latch to the left." he told her.

She paused to look at him, and then back at the compartment. He saw her left hand move and the compartment opened.

"Thank you." she said, stowing her bag with Gilbert's things. She settled in the seat next to his. She was rather pretty, actually…

"Gilbert Beilschmidt." he said, offering her his hand. She hesitated and then smiled, taking it.

"Natasha."


	23. Season 1 Break

**END SEASON ONE**

* * *

Gilbert's healing up nicely and everyone looks like they're in one piece (save a couple of bad guys), but trouble's brewing on the horizon. There's a reason Gilbert's grandfather wants him close at hand. If only he could figure out what it was… Not to mention his bizarre manservant and a new girlfriend with a decidedly mysterious background.

On the home front, Alfred and Matt deal with relationships new and old, and Elizabeta finds out something that could be life changing.

* * *

**Season One Trivia**

- Alfred and Matt's father is named George Jones. Their mother is named Kim Williams. These names are based in American and Canadian history (George is based on George Washington, the first American president, and Kim is based on Kim Campbell, the first female Canadian Prime Minister)

- Alfred kept his father's name when their parents spilt apart. Matt, on the other hand, hyphenated his (His full name being Mathew Williams-Jones, though he rarely uses anything but Mathew Williams).

- Matt has dual citizenship (in America and Canada). Alfred qualifies for this, but chose not to get it. (This being because their mother is Canadian)

- Arthur has a green card. He's lived in the country for two and half years. Both his parents live in Colorado. His mother is American, but of English decent.

- Arthur has tried to get an American driver's license. He fails the test every time.

- Each character has a decidedly different healing rate (this becomes more obvious in the next season). Alfred, who is built like an ox and made mostly of muscle, heals at a rather fast rate. Gilbert, who spent his childhood undernourished and stressed, has a terrible immune system.

- Alfred works out regularly. This never made it into the story for a number of reasons, but mostly because it wasn't interesting.

- In the accident, Gilbert broke his arm (badly enough to need a pin implanted), broke three of his ribs (to the point that one of them was floating, or loose in his body and required surgery to fix), fractured his skull (this is the cause of his brain damage), and ended up with a massive amount of road rash. The road rash was never really mentioned, but he does have quite a bit of it on his legs. In the accident, whether he was flung from his bike or lost his grip, he skidded across the road before slamming into the same tree his bike wrapped around (thankfully after). If he'd been hanging on better, he probably would have died.

- At the end of this season, Gilbert is actually, for the most part, healed. He still has a bit of trouble walking and the finer motor skills (such as writing) still give him trouble, but he is fully self-sufficient by the end of December. His arm and ribs have healed by now, and his skull is nearly there.

- The bullet Alfred took actually went right through him. As it hit on an angle, it grazed through a lot of muscle and came out above his hip, missing the abdominal cavity entirely. He's very lucky in this aspect, and he'll heal relatively easily, save for some weakening in the area. He also has one fractured rib and a few broken fingers.

- Ludwig has three broken ribs, but he's otherwise fine. None were floating (thus he didn't need surgery).

- Alfred really does have a crush on Gilbert, and always has. It's nothing serious, and it's certainly not something he'd ever leave Arthur for, even if Gilbert did swing that way.

- Gilbert is straight. One-hundred percent heterosexual. Whatever Alfred says.

- Alfred's had thirteen girlfriends before he started dating Arthur. Arthur is the first and only (if you don't count Ivan) boy Alfred has dated. None of his girlfriends have a very good impression of him. (Implied by the fact that several have apparently burst into tears in his presence.)

- The only established couples are Alfred/Arthur and Roderich/Elizabeta (along with past Gilbert/Elizabeta and short-lived Alfred/Ivan). No one else is dating (yet).

- Gilbert's blood type is AB positive, the universal receiver. Alfred, on the other hand, is type O negative, the universal giver (this obviously makes Matt's blood type O negative as well). Ludwig is Type A positive (Their mother was type A, father type AB.)

- Scopaesthesia is the feeling of being stared at, otherwise known as the psychic staring effect.

- Agoraphobia is the fear of situations in which escape is impossible and help is unavailable.

- The actual price of a heart is closer to $290,000, but that isn't quite as catchy.

* * *

**Continue on to read the first chapter of Season Two…**


	24. Lead and Graphite

"Okay, good, now stand up….good. You're healing very well, Alfred."

Alfred beamed. "See, Matt? Very well. I told you I was fine."

"That's not what he said." Matt sighed. "Will you tell him to take it easy?"

The doctor smiled. "It's only been a month. You need to relax, of course. Have you signed up for classes this semester?"

Alfred nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I can go, right?"

"If you stay in your wheelchair for another two weeks, at least."

Alfred pumped the air with his fist. "YES! See, Matt?"

"Since when are you eager to take classes?"

"Since staying at home all day is boring." Alfred scoffed. "You never take me _anywhere_."

"There is a _bullet_ in your _stomach_." Matt pointed out.

"Was." Alfred corrected.

"Lay down, please." the doctor said, helping him ease back on the table. Alfred tried not to wince as his doctor prodded at him. "….Good…good. You're a dream patient, Alfred, you're healing perfectly."

"Heroes do that." Alfred said. "We have to be ready to save someone else."

"You didn't save anyone's life." Matt muttered.

"I saved someone!" Alfred said indignantly. "Ludwig. Dad. Someone."

Matt sighed. "Please don't do it again."

"Alright, Alfred, you can sit up again." the doctor said, helping him. He turned to Matt. "Would you mind giving your brother and I a moment? We'll be done soon, I promise."

"Is something wrong with him?" Matt asked, eyebrows coming together. "He's not-"

"Everything is fine. There's just some personal questions we have to discuss and I'm sure he'd appreciate the privacy-"

"He wouldn't, actually." Matt said, standing up anyway. "But I don't want to hear it. I'll go refill your prescriptions, Fred."

"Don't wait up in the waiting room, I'll come find you." Alfred called as he shut the door. He turned back to the doctor. "So…yes, I am having sex. I top, too."

His doctor smiled and flipped through his charts. "As long as you're being careful. You and your girlfriend-"

"Boyfriend."

"-boyfriend should take it easy for a while. Nothing too exciting."

"He's British, nothing is ever exciting."

The doctor sat down on his stool and continued looking through Alfred's papers. "So you and your boyfriend are getting along? Any arguments, fights…?"

"Well, yeah." Alfred said. "We always fight, but he's so cute when he's mad…and then there's make-up sex. And angry sex. Angry sex is the best."

"So you have a good relationship?"

"Of course!" Alfred told him eagerly. "We had a falling out a few months ago but after the whole 'missing' deal we hooked up again."

"Is it a serious relationship, or…"

"Well, we're not getting married any time soon. Even if it were legal…" Alfred said uncomfortably. "But…yeah. I think it is, at least. I mean, I don't cheat on him, if that's what you're talking about. Well, there's some self-action when he's being stubborn but that doesn't count…right?"

"What about your relationship with your brother? Are you close?"

"Of course!" Alfred said brightly. "We're twins! And we still live together, studio apartment, you know, broke as balls, and he's been the one taking care of me after this whole mess. Mattie and me are close as can be. Okay, maybe Gilbert and Ludwig are closer, but that's not even a fair comparison…"

The doctor looked up from his papers at him. "You mentioned Gilbert. He's your friend that went to Germany for the semester?"

"Yeah, it really sucks. He hasn't even called or anything!" Alfred said. "If you went to Germany you'd call your best friend, right? I'm still his best friend, right? He didn't…replace me in Germany… And I know what you're thinking, but Antonio and Francis so aren't his best friends! Or, at least, not before me! I've known him longer! Gosh, Gilbert is an ass. I got _shot_, come on. _You'd_ call, right?"

"Do you miss Gilbert?"

"Of course I do! That _ass_…he better have crashed again."

"Do you think he misses you?"

"He better. You know he didn't even want to go? Ludwig almost had a heart attack."

"How well do you know Ludwig?"

Alfred hesitated. "Well he's…he's my best friend's brother…I mean, I'm friends with him, if that's what you mean. I…well yeah, we were, you know, both in that room together, and there was Ivan and… so I guess we, you know, bonded then. Yeah, he's my friend."

"Do you talk with him very much?"

"Well, I, you know…classes were out and I…"

"When was the last time you spoke with him?"

"I...uh…he visited me in the hospital. Got out before me, you know…"

"Not since then?"

Alfred picked at the hem of his shirt. "Yeah. I guess. I should probably give the guy a beer or something, I'd probably have gone crazy or something if I didn't have company….wow that sounded selfish."

"Not at all, Alfred." the doctor assured him. "Have you been avoiding Ludwig?"

"Of course not!"

"He doesn't remind you of what happened?"

"Well…I…" Alfred twisted his shirt harder. "I mean, maybe a little…"

There was a pause while Alfred continued to destroy his shirt.

"What about your father, Alfred? Have you spoken to him since you were released from the hospital?"

Alfred hesitated. "Dad…doesn't like…Arthur."

"Arthur is…"

"My boyfriend."

"Ah…does he not like Arthur or your lifestyle choice?"

"It's not a lifestyle." Alfred muttered. "Or a choice."

"Of course not." the doctor apologized. "What would you prefer to call it?"

Alfred thought for a moment. "Uh...my gayness? I don't know, I'm not particularly touchy about it."

"Does your father approve of your…gayness?"

"He...Dad is a religious man." Alfred said. "He says…he says he still loves me. And he'll wait for me to come to my senses."

"Does it bother you that your father can't accept you as you are?"

"Well…yeah." Alfred's shirt tore a little and he made his hand lie still. Matt would kill him if he ruined another shirt. He only had, like, four. "I…Dad's just…stubborn. He likes to think he's right. And…well…it doesn't help that he hates Arthur anyway."

"Has your relationship improved since the incident?"

"I…yeah, I mean, we…well we're speaking now. We spoke. Things are better."

"Does Matt have a good relationship with your father?"

"Matt doesn't like Dad."

"Has he told you that?"

"When our parents split up he went to live with Mom." Alfred said to his feet. "He came with me to go to college."

"You stayed with your father?"

"Yeah, that was before I…told...him."

"Did it affect your relationship with Matt that he went with your mother?"

"No! Of course not. Well, we didn't see each other for, what, nine months? They went back to Canada. I think he got citizenship there or something." Alfred said quickly. "But, no, me and Matt are close, I told you."

His doctor nodded slowly and looked through his chart again. "Now, Alfred, I know you have Bipolar Disorder-"

"I've been taking my meds again."

"That's good." he looked up at Alfred again. "Does it ever flare up…? Give you trouble?"

"No, not really." Alfred shrugged. "I mean, sometimes I'm, like, insane. Well I'm, like, sad sometimes, but for being diseased life is pretty good."

"So you'd say your life is good?"

"Yeah." Alfred said happily. "I would."

The doctor stood again. "Thank you for talking to me, Alfred. You can go ahead and find your brother now."

"Sweet." Alfred said, sliding down into his chair. "So, that was like, to make sure I'm okay in the head and stuff?"

"A lot of people end up traumatized after an experience like yours." his doctor scribbled something and handed it to him. "You're doing fine. This is an updated prescription for your medication, if your brother has already gotten it take it in next time you refill, alright?"

"Got it." Alfred took the paper and his doctor opened the door for him.

"And Alfred,"

"Yeah?"

"Try talking to Ludwig." his doctor told him. "Clear the air."

Alfred nodded quickly. "Sure, doc, I'll see him at the bar later tonight. Matt's shift, you know."

"Remember, Alfred, no drinking."

"Yeah, yeah…"

* * *

"Thank you, Matt." Katyusha said pleasantly, taking the drink Matt offered her. He grinned and watched her sip it experimentally.

"Do you like it?"

"It's good." she said. "You're so talented-"

"Please, you call that a drink?" Alfred interrupted. "That's vodka and orange juice. Arthur could make it blind."

"Are you implying I can't make a screwdriver?" Arthur said indignantly.

"I'm implying there's a reason we don't let you behind the bar, Artie." Alfred said, leaning down to kiss him and cut off his next protest.

"Fine, Ass," Matt said angrily. "what does the great and mighty _Alfred Fucking Jones_ recommend?"

Alfred grinned and ignored the insult. "Why, a Lemon Drop of course. Vodka, lemon, and sugar. Simple, sweet, and a hell of a kick."

Matt scowled at him furiously and Katyusha giggled. "I like the screwdriver, Matt."

"Don't be so _touchy_." Alfred told him. "Gosh, you'd think this was your first girlfriend or something."

Matt's face tinted red and he scrubbed the counter to keep his eyes on something besides Katyusha or Alfred or Arthur, who probably didn't care but was definitely making Matt all the more embarrassed just by being there.

"Why, Matt, I can't recall, how many girlfriends have you had? Three, four? I've lost tra-"

"Shut the fuck up, fag." Matt said furiously. "Go fuck your boyfriend in the closet again before Francis gets here. I'm sick of him cheering all the god-damn time."

"Hey, what'd I do?" Arthur demanded.

"Calm down, Mattie." Katyusha said. "He's only teasing. I know, I have siblings…"

Matt sighed. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, Boss has been riding me kind of hard lately." He glared at Alfred. "We can't _all_ get raises-"

"I worked for that raise." Alfred said seriously. "I spilled blood for it."

"Oh, shut up." Matt sighed, calmer now. Alfred couldn't keep his face straight for very long and broke into a grin. "And give me that." he added, pulling the beer out of Alfred's hands.

"Matt-!"

"The doctor told you not to drink!" Matt said angrily.

"Jeez, okay." Alfred sighed. Matt stuck a different bottle in his hands.

"Drink that."

Alfred glanced at it. "Matt this is that stupid non-alcoholic stuff I sent Gil-"

"It's that or soda."

Alfred grumbled and pulled the top open.

* * *

Maybe he didn't like it here, but even he couldn't deny it was kind of pretty. Maybe it was just because he was American. Everything in Europe looked nicer. The buildings, the streets, the cars…the women…

He leaned on the balcony - the _balcony_, who was he, Juliet? - breathing in crisp January air. _January_. Last year he'd been in America. God, his life was weird.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it over, staring at it. He'd _meant_ to call…really, he had. He turned the phone over again and again. He should call. He hadn't spoken to Ludwig in a week. And he was starting to miss Alfred, and Francis, and Antonio… Everyone. He might as well just give in and say he missed everyone.

"Mr. Beilschmidt,"

Gilbert sighed and glanced over his shoulder. "I told you to call me Gilbert."

The servant nodded over his pressed, European shirt. "Mr. Gilbert-"

"Just…just Gilbert."

A pause. "Gilbert. Your grandfather would like me to tell you that breakfast is ready."

Gilbert nodded and shoved his phone in his pocket. He'd call later. "I'll be down in a minute."

The servant nodded and turned to leave.

"Hey, wait-" Gilbert said suddenly. He paused and looked back at him. "What…what's your name?"

He smiled. "Mr. Vargas, sir."

Gilbert assumed that was as informal as he was going to get. "Then…Thanks, Mr. Vargas. For telling me about breakfast."

"It's my job, sir." he said, giving him a slight bow and disappearing inside again.

"Still…" Gilbert said, to no one. He glanced down at Granddad's massive estate again and followed Mr. Vargas inside.

* * *

Feliciano dragged him towards the bar. "Hurry up! I want a drink!"

"You just had one." Ludwig protested.

Feliciano ignored him and nearly crashed into the bar. "Hey, Matt, are you working the bar tonight?"

"Tonight. And tomorrow. And the night after, probably." Matt muttered, slamming various things on the bar. "What can I get you, Felice?"

"Mmm…martini." Feliciano said, looking over the bottles behind Matt.

"Shaken, not stirred." Alfred added.

"That was the worst English accent I've ever heard." Arthur said, taking a sip of his own drink.

"And a terrible idea. Martinis are best stirred." Feliciano protested. "So, stirred, Matt."

"Whatever." Matt said, fighting back a yawn. He pulled a bottle of gin off the back shelf. "We're low on vermouth. So a _dry _stirred martini."

"How could you be low on vermouth?" Feliciano demanded. "You just opened!"

"Matt hasn't done the reordering yet." Alfred said. "We're out of, like, everything."

"Shut up, Alfred." Matt said, fixing Feliciano's drink. "What about you, Ludwig?"

"Beer." Ludwig said shortly.

Matt shrugged and dropped a can on the counter. "Want a mug?"

"I'm good."

"We have _taps_ now." Alfred said. "Use the _taps_."

"The taps are empty."

"The…but they're taps!" Alfred said, shocked.

"They lead to _something_, Alfred." Matt sighed. "The beer is out. All we have are cans."

"But…" Alfred seemed confused. "They're taps."

"They're not like water taps, Alfred!" Matt said, finishing off the martini and pushing it at Feliciano. "They don't have pipes or something."

"Well they should have pipes!" Alfred insisted.

"I'm going to hit _you_ with a pipe." Matt muttered.

There was a pause while Matt distractedly shoved the ice tray back into place.

"Whatever." Alfred said, apparently losing interest in the conversation.

Matt looked up. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What?" Matt said, confused. Ludwig looked between them and then became very fascinated with his beer.

"Nothing!" Alfred said angrily. "Why are you so persistent?"

"Because you never give up on an argument." Matt said. "What did I say?"

"You didn't say anything, okay?" Alfred shouted. "Just drop it."

Matt stared at him for a minute longer and shrugged. "Whatever, Alfred, I really don't have time to figure you out tonight." He turned to another customer.

Ludwig took a long drink from his beer and returned to examining the thin silver tab.

"I'm gonna go get some fresh air, 'lright?" Alfred said suddenly. "Don't wait up, I'll be back."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked. "I can come if you-"

"I'll be right outside, Artie. Have another drink. I'll be back before you're done." Alfred laughed, dropping off the counter and sliding into his wheelchair. "God, I'll be happy when I'm _done_ with this stupid thing…"

Arthur frowned and watched Alfred disappear through a crowd that split easily for him.

"You don't know why he was acting weird, do you?" Arthur asked him. Ludwig looked up.

"What?"

"Well, it doesn't have to do with what happened, does it?" Arthur insisted. "I mean, he hasn't told me or Matt anything, really-"

"No, no clue." Ludwig said quickly. He took another drink of beer. "He's probably just tired. You know, being shot probably does that to you."

Arthur shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I hope he feels better soon, I hate seeing him like this."

Ludwig nodded and stared at the wall, pretending to examine something fascinating there. A few minutes later he glanced at his watch.

"I left something in the car, Felice, I'll be right back." He said, turning away from the counter. Feliciano mumbled something over his shoulder and then drained the rest of his martini.

"Matt! HEY MATT!" Feliciano tried to flag Matt down. Ludwig chuckled and pushed his way through the crowd, stilling holding the remains of his beer. He pulled open the door, with some difficulty, thanks to the crowd pressing on it, and slipped outside.

Alfred was sitting by the door, staring up at the sky, lost in thought.

"Did you tell them?"

Ludwig shut the door completely so they wouldn't be overheard.

"No."

Alfred sighed and looked down. "It doesn't bother me, I just…don't like thinking about it." he muttered.

Ludwig nodded quietly.

"You know what's fucked up?"

"What?"

"I'm trying to figure out why I actually care." Alfred said, laughing. For once, Alfred's laugh wasn't warm or sincere. "Why I actually _give a fuck_ about…anything."

Ludwig paused. "What do you mean?"

"Just…" Alfred hesitated. "I keep seeing it. I wasn't out, you know, the moment he shot me. I saw it happen."

Ludwig said nothing.

"Ever see somebody die before?"

"No." Ludwig said.

"Neither have I." Alfred said quietly.

There was a long pause.

"Have you had any nightmares?" Alfred asked finally.

"I have nightmares about a lot of things." Ludwig said.

"Of course." Alfred said, laughing again. "I forgot. I was talking to the walking _Lifetime_ special."

Ludwig hesitated and then drained the rest of his beer.

"I dream about the blood."

Alfred looked at him, eyes glazed. "In the box?"

"Yeah."

"So do I."

They both looked at the sky again.

"I really thought I was going to die." Alfred mumbled. "Every day."

"I did too." Ludwig said.

"I have nightmares where I'm back, and all of this since has been the dream. Some nights I wake up and I can't tell which is the dream and which is real. I'm afraid to fall asleep. Because then I might be back."

Ludwig nodded. "Did you ever see the Cooler?"

"I didn't." Alfred said. "That's where Ivan took you, right?"

Ludwig nodded. "It was a freezer. I still dream about it. It's where I remember being the most aware about what he told us…about Gilbert."

"I remember that. I mean, I tried to imagine if it was Matt and I just couldn't even…And me and Matt are pretty damn close, but I'm not going to pretend we're as close as you guys." Alfred said.

Ludwig laughed. "I don't know about 'close'."

"Then I don't think you've heard Gilbert talk about you." Alfred said seriously.

"It's…" Ludwig trailed off. "It's complicated."

"Don't lie." Alfred scoffed. "I was _there_. I was perfectly aware that you were devastated when you thought he was dead. You just don't like admitting you have human feelings."

Ludwig sighed. "You sound like Feliciano."

"I'm not surprised." Alfred said, pushing his chair away from the wall. "Come on, now, you can admit you love your brother, can't you?"

Ludwig glared at him silently.

"Look, I'll go first." Alfred said. "I love my brother Matt. Who happens to be my twin and is therefore damn sexy. There, see? Easy. Your turn."

"I don't have to say anything-"

"I took a bullet for you." Alfred said. "Say it."

"You did not." Ludwig said angrily. "You got shot and I happened to be there. If anything you owe me for shutting that door and saving you from just walking to your death."

"Say it!"

"I don't have to do anything you tell me." Ludwig said, crossing his arms. "Regardless of how I feel, it doesn't change if I tell _you_."

"Say you love Gilbert. That's all you have to do. Just say 'I love my brother.'. It's not even gay." Alfred insisted, pushing his chair to stare him down, which he was surprisingly good at from waist-height.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Say you love him!"

"I'm not saying anything!"

"Then you hate him!"

"I do not!"

"So say it!"

"No!"

"If you don't want to say it that means you hate him!" Alfred shouted. "And after all he did for you…where would you be without him, huh? Stuck in some foster home 'building character'? You can't even thank him for-"

"I love him!" Ludwig exploded. "I love my brother! I don't know what I'd do without him! Are you fucking happy?"

Alfred's face brightened immediately. "Yes."

Ludwig felt his face turn faintly red "I can't believe you made me say that."

"You need to tell him that, you know." Alfred said, pushing his wheelchair back on its back wheels. "I think it's something he needs to hear. Sometimes I get the impression he doesn't think you really care about him at all."

"Would you stay out of my personal life, Alfred?" Ludwig begged.

"Yours, yes." Alfred said. "Gilbert's my best friend. So it's his personal life I'm fucking with."

Ludwig sighed. "Gilbert knows I…appreciate his company."

"Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Alfred said. "Back in my day it wasn't embarrassing to say you loved your brother…Well not after middle school, anyway."

"Alfred…"

"Yeah, okay, sorry." Alfred dropped his chair. "So, have you been avoiding me like I've been avoiding you?"

Ludwig was slightly surprised by the turn in conversation. "Well…probably."

Alfred nodded. "So I've been thinking."

"Have you?"

"Shut up." Alfred said distractedly. "I've been thinking. That street. I haven't been on it since then. Have you?"

"Can't say I have."

"It's just a store now." Alfred said.

Ludwig saw where he was going. And he didn't like it.

"No, Alfred, I'm not going anywhere near that place as long as I live."

"We're never going to move on if we don't confront our fears!" Alfred insisted.

"I have nothing to confront!" Ludwig snapped. "I'm not going near that store, I'm not going near that street, and I'm not talking about it. The past is the past!"

"So you're just going to spend your life pretending it never happened?" Alfred demanded. "Like it's just a bad dream? Like you don't fucking wake up in the middle of the night sweating and shaking and have to go outside to remind yourself that you can? Or that you can't stand the sight of blood now, even on TV? That if you can't find your brother in the middle of the night sometimes you don't panic and call him to make sure he's okay?"

"Going there isn't going to stop any of that!" Ludwig shouted. "It's only going to make it worse! You think you know _more_ than me about traumatic experiences?" Ludwig took a step towards Alfred and he pushed his chair back a few inches. "You think I haven't figured it out by now? You block it out, Alfred! You pretend it never happened! You lock it away someplace where it can't fucking hurt you anymore!"

"You can't do that!" Alfred insisted. "It's not _healthy_-!"

"Don't tell me about what's healthy or not! What I do _works_, and I don't fucking care what you think about the matter, Alfred, because even if you go there, I'm not coming with you!"

"So what about me, huh?" Alfred shouted back. "I don't remind you of it at all? You just going to avoid me, pretend _I_ don't exist?"

"If I have to!"

"Well too fucking bad!" Alfred said furiously. "Because you have to put up with me if you want to go back into the bar, which is where I'll be. Good night, Ludwig. Don't get fucking _kidnapped_."

Alfred pushed his chair through the doors, kicking them open with his foot, leaving Ludwig alone outside. He glared after him for a moment and then shouted wordlessly, lashing out at the wall. His fucking _life_. Why wasn't anything simple? Why couldn't anyone just leave fucking well-enough _alone_?

Ludwig slid down the wall and sat there, alone, nursing his bloody knuckles. Fuck his _life_.

* * *

It was too early to be awake. Why did he _always_ take math first thing in the morning? This was ridiculous.

Alfred buried his face in his arms, trying to fit in a few more moments of sleep before class started.

The professor slammed the chalk on the ridge under the board and Alfred jerked upright, trying not to look like he had just been sleeping.

"This is your first Calc 2 problem." he said sternly. "Find a partner and solve."

"Do we have to find a partner?" some brave soul asked.

"Yes." Professor Hardass said.

There was a collective groan and students quickly tried to find someone who looked smart enough to know what to do. Alfred looked around, but all four seats surrounding him had turned to someone else.

"Fuck..." he muttered. "Uh…Hey! Who needs a partner?" he called into the suddenly deafening classroom.

Professor Hardass grabbed someone by the arm and sat them next to Alfred. "You two work together."

Alfred looked at his partner and then at Professor Hardass. "I don't think that's a good id-"

"Math. Now." A pencil was shoved in his hand and Alfred sighed in defeat.

"So. Good morning, Ludwig."

Ludwig muttered something and flipped his notebook open.

"What do we do?" Alfred asked, trying to see over his neighbor's shoulder.

"Solve the problem." Ludwig said, scribbling on his paper.

"Well, yeah, but…" Alfred looked at his paper. "How?"

"Were you paying attention at _all_ last semester?" Ludwig asked dryly.

"I was busy being angsty." Alfred said. "Also I missed my final because I was still in the hospital."

"Right." Ludwig muttered. "And my semester was a breeze."

"I'm not saying it was!" Alfred protested, punching in the equation Ludwig showed him in his calculator. "Where's the log button?"

"Here." Ludwig said, stabbing something on his calculator with his pencil. "You were in class at least twice as much as I was."

"I get it, I'm a retard!" Alfred said, turning his calculator on its side. "What does this even _mean_?"

Ludwig righted the calculator. "You're looking for the hole in the graph."

"Graphs can have holes?"

"Do you ever pay attention in class?"

"There's a reason Matt's the one getting the scholarships." Alfred said. "Fuck, I erased it. What was the equation?"

"Give me that!" Ludwig said impatiently, taking the calculator from him. "You're hopeless."

"I know that!" Alfred said.

"How did you even pass Calculus?" Ludwig muttered, fiddling with the calculator.

"The professor liked me." Alfred shrugged. "Gave me a test and said if I passed it I'd get a C."

"Are you serious?" Ludwig demanded, scribbling something else on his paper. "Solve this, I'll look for the zero here."

"Okay." Alfred copied the problem on his paper. "And yeah, sometimes it pays to be likable."

"Are you saying I'm not likable?"

"I'm saying you'd have more friends if you weren't such a downer all day." Alfred muttered, scratching out an answer that turned out not to work.

"I'm not a downer-"

"You have a massive stick up your ass." Alfred said, frowning and erasing another bad answer. "What am I doing wrong?"

"This is supposed to be a three." Ludwig pointed out. "Your handwriting is terrible."

"Look at yours!" Alfred protested. "How can you possibly write like that?"

"I like knowing what I wrote." Ludwig said dryly, fixing Alfred's incorrect equation. "This is an x, Alfred, not a multiplication sign."

"Same thing." Alfred muttered. "Sorry I don't obsessively organize everything."

"I do not." Ludwig said angrily, turning back to his paper. "Now solve that."

"Whatever." Alfred shrugged. "And yes you do. I've seen your house. You'd think an entire maid agency lives there. I think you have OCD."

"I don't have OCD, Alfred."

"Have you been tested?"

"I don't have OCD, Alfred!" Ludwig told him. "Now would you _please_ just solve that?"

"I did! The answer is positive or negative eighteen." Alfred said, finishing his problem with a flourish. "And your apartment is _ridiculous_. Me and Matt have way less space and we manage without keeping everything so neat."

"I like to know where things are." Ludwig said. "One of the zeros here is negative eighteen so the answer is eighteen."

"Are you sure?" Alfred asked. "What about that bit there?"

Ludwig scribbled something else. "Wait…okay the zeros are positive and negative eighteen."

"So...there's no answer?"

"There's no solution." Ludwig said writing it on his paper and circling it. "Okay, we're done."

"Finally!" Alfred said happily, stretching and looking around. "There's still a bunch of people working, too! Time to sleep…"

"We should check our answer-"

"Bullshit that." Alfred said, putting his head down again. "Sooo tired…"

Ludwig muttered something and continued writing.

A moment later Professor Hardass (Alfred felt like maybe he should actually find out what his name was) clapped his hands sharply. "Pencils down!"

Ludwig dropped his. Alfred kept his head on his arms.

"I want two pairs to come up and write their solution on the board." He said. Alfred jerked up. Aw, shit...please not him, not him...

"Let's see…Mr..." he glanced at his roster. "Perkins…and…Mr…Jones."

Alfred groaned. Screw it. His name was Professor Hardass. That was all the effort he was getting out of Alfred.

"Sir? I'm in a wheelchair." Alfred said hopefully.

"So bring the wheelchair to the front of the room and write your problem." Professor Hardass said. Alfred grumbled to himself as he pushed his chair down the aisle after Ludwig and carefully stood by the board, looking through his horribly messy notes. Next to them, another pair was already busy scribbling.

Ludwig wrote out his half of it. Alfred looked at his paper and shrugged, picking up a broken piece of chalk and writing on the board.

"What is that?" Alfred asked, pointing to something Ludwig had written on his paper.

"Just write it!" Ludwig muttered.

"I don't know what it is!" Alfred protested. "How do you draw it?"

Ludwig wrote it on the board for him. "There. Just write the rest of the problem."

"Fine!" Alfred said, annoyed. He quickly wrote out the rest of the problem. "Control everything, why don't you?"

"I'm not controlling everything!" Ludwig snapped.

"You _always_ control everything." Alfred said, rolling his eyes.

"I do not!"

"You do!"

"Shut up!"

"You shut up first!"

"Mr. Jones! Mr…"

"Beilschmidt, sir." Ludwig said, looking down.

"Enough arguing. Take your seat."

Alfred dropped into his chair and pushed it past Ludwig down the aisle, brushing him with his pencil on the way.

"Sorry." he said innocently.

Ludwig brushed angrily at the mark he'd left on his pants and followed him to their seats.

Professor Hardass looked over their work and then began to explain it to the rest of the class. The difference between Ludwig's tidy, rounded numbers and Alfred's hurried scribbles was almost painful.

Ludwig was still brushing at the small gray line on his pants.

"Dude, relax." Alfred told him.

"Shut up!" Ludwig snapped.

"It's just a pencil mark!" Alfred said. "It'll come off in the wash!"

"That doesn't matter! Now I have to walk around with a mark on my pants-"

"Oh, I forgot." Alfred said melodramatically. "God forbid there be a mark on the neatly-creased perfection that is Ludwig's clothing."

"I put up with dirty clothes too long to-"

"Oh, shut up!" Alfred scoffed. "Gilbert wears his clothes until they literally fall off and he _enjoys_ it."

"Don't draw on my pants!" Ludwig snapped.

"Don't be so melodramatic about everything!"

"I'm not melodramatic!"

"I didn't draw on your pants!"

"Mr. Jones and Mr. Beilschmidt!" Professor Hardass shouted. Alfred and Ludwig turned back to their notes angrily.

"Neat-freak."

"Idiot."

* * *

"Hurry up." Elizabeta said impatiently. "I only have an hour for lunch. I have class in ten minutes."

"It won't click!" Roderich protested.

Elizabeta sighed and reached around herself, sliding the clips of her bra together easily. "Roddy, if you can't manage this, we can't do this at lunch anymore."

"Your bra is messed up." Roderich said unhappily.

"You're just incompetent." Elizabeta said, grabbing her bag and digging through it, making sure she had everything. "Have you seen my pen? The nice one, with all the colors…"

"Did you check your bra?" Roderich muttered.

"That didn't even make sense." Elizabeta said, rolling her eyes. "Oh, here it is."

"Maybe you should get front hooks." Roderich said.

Elizabeta almost told him that Gilbert had managed with only one hand, but caught herself at the last minute. She shook her head slightly.

"I'll see you after class." Elizabeta said, pecking him on the cheek distractedly.

"Whatever." Roderich said moodily. Elizabeta sighed, but there was no time to make him feel better about himself now. She pushed open the door of his dorm and hurried to her car, trying to remember if she'd done her history homework.

* * *

Gilbert stared absently at the stars overhead.

"There's more of them back home."

Natasha looked up too. "In America?"

"In Colorado." Gilbert corrected. "Not as many people, you know? Lots of mountains. Never been mountain climbing, actually. I kinda regret that now…"

"Sounds nice there." Natasha said. They were sitting in Granddad's garden, hidden from view by the cultivated trees and elegant flowers between them and the house. Granddad had told him not to leave without telling him. Technically, this wasn't leaving.

"I miss it." Gilbert said.

"You've only been gone a week."

"I still miss it." Gilbert said truthfully.

"I miss Russia sometimes." Natasha told him.

Gilbert sighed. He'd always thought homesickness was kind of stupid, especially since he'd never stuck in one place long enough to consider it home. Now he realized it wasn't the pristine apartment he missed, it was having everything so absolutely spotless. He missed going to the bar and hanging out at the dorms with Francis and Antonio and screwing around with Alfred... He hadn't even realized it, but the college had become the place he thought of as home.

"Have you called your brother?" Natasha asked.

Gilbert shrugged.

"You should." she insisted. "I know you miss him."

"Yeah, well." Gilbert lay back in the grass, sticking his arms behind his head. "I dunno. I just…don't want to call him and realize no one even cares I left."

Natasha lay down too, close enough that their sides brushed. "I'm sure he misses you."

"What am I even supposed to talk about? It's not like I've done anything interesting."

Natasha was quiet for a moment, and then, suddenly, she pulled herself on top of him. Gilbert paused, looking at her sitting here, straddling his chest.

"So do something interesting." she said.

Gilbert grinned.


	25. I Don't Have a Clock

Alfred pushed open his apartment, more interested in what his mouth was doing than the key. Arthur shut the door behind them.

"Where's Matt?" he asked, pulling away for a moment.

"At Katyusha's." Alfred mumbled, pulling him closer again. "Come on, Doc gave me the go ahead for sex."

"That doesn't mean you should." Arthur said, although his argument was diluted by the way he fought with the button of Alfred's pants.

"I dare you to stop undressing me, then." Alfred challenged, working Arthur's shirt up over his head. They stumbled back into the bed (Whose bed, it didn't matter. The sheets would be changed anyway.), Alfred pinned under the now-shirtless Arthur, who pulled eagerly at Alfred's pants despite his accusation.

"Shut up and take your shirt off."

Alfred did, worming his way out of it carefully. Arthur finished with his jeans and helped him, running his fingers down Alfred's bandaged torso.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Do you want to stop?"

"That's not what I asked."

"That isn't what I asked."

Arthur scowled and continued to trace the square outline of the gauze taped to Alfred's stomach. Alfred pulled at Arthur's belt while he was occupied. The leather slid free easily and he dropped it to the floor, grinning. Arthur pulled his jeans the rest of the way off and sat on Alfred's legs, looking down at him, both of them in their underwear.

"Why are you wearing Union Jack boxers?"

"Do you not like them?" Alfred asked innocently.

"Why are you _wearing_ them?" Arthur insisted, exasperated.

"You should take me to England some time." Alfred said. "I miss going there. I haven't been in so long."

"Is that where you got them?"

"No. Internet."

"Of course." Arthur sighed, picking at them.

"Well? Are you going to take them off?"

"I'm thinking about it."

Alfred rolled his eyes and dug his fingertips in the band of Arthur's boxers.

* * *

"I HAVE NEVER BEEN THIS HAPPY IN MY LIFE."

"Alfred, calm down." Matt insisted. "The doctor said he would put you right back _in_ your wheelchair if you didn't take it easy."

Alfred ignored him and pulled himself onto the bar counter. "Matt, Matt, look what I can do!" he said eagerly.

"You can walk, it's a fucking miracle, would you GET DOWN?" Matt shouted. Alfred sighed and dropped down onto the counter. He winced and rubbed his stomach.

"Oww..."

"What the hell did I say?" Matt sighed. "If you hurt yourself I'm not driving you to the hospital until the morning."

"Got it." Alfred mumbled.

"Aw, did you hurt yourself?" Arthur slurred, climbing onto the bar with Alfred. He tucked his head under Alfred's chin, sliding into his lap. "Better?"

"Yes." Alfred said irrationally, smiling. Matt rolled his eyes and finished the drink he was in the middle of making.

The bar was quiet enough tonight that when someone came in, bundled in a jacket and scarf, bringing the frigid air with them, he noticed.

He grinned. "Hey Katyusha."

She pulled her scarf away from her face, nose red with cold. "H-hey Matt. Gosh, it's so _cold_ outside."

"It's supposed to snow this week."

Katyusha sighed. "And I thought I was escaping the cold when I moved to America."

"It can't be worse than Russia."

"Oh, the weather is much better here." Katyusha said, peeling off her jacket. "I'd still like it better without all the snow."

"So how's your brother?"

"He's good." Katyusha said sadly. "He says hello."

"To me?"

"That's what I said, but he insists that any friend of mine is a friend of his." Katyusha said.

"What about me? Am I your friend?" Alfred asked.

"He says hello to you, too." Katyusha said. "And that he hopes you're healing well."

"Your brother is weird." Alfred said bluntly. Matt sighed.

"He used to be so nice, I still don't know what happened…" Katyusha said miserably.

"Maybe he needs therapy." Alfred suggested.

"That's what they said he should try. They'll give him parole if he's good about it and keeps going after. I think I'll bring him back to Russia then." Katyusha sighed.

"You're not running away to Russia without me, are you?" Matt asked.

"Don't be silly, I'll come back. I have to finish school. I'll leave him with my sister, he'll be fine. He just turned eighteen anyway-"

"He's eighteen?" Matt asked suddenly. He bit his lip. Alfred was contagious.

"Hm? Oh, yes, his birthday was the thirtieth."

Matt turned to look at Alfred. "You said…"

Alfred turned faintly red. "I know."

"That's _illegal_, Alfred."

"So is locking people under a convenience store." Alfred muttered.

* * *

"_Ich…bin…einen….Auto._"

"You just said 'I am a car.' And you didn't even use the right gender, or case-"

"WHATEVER!" Alfred said angrily. "Who speaks German anyway?"

"Repeat after me. _Ich habe ein Auto_."

"_Ich habe einen Auto_."

"_Ein_."

"I said _ein_!"

"You said _einen_."

"What's the difference?" Alfred scoffed, tossing his book aside. He'd been in class for two weeks now and he was already failing miserably. "You know what I hate? I hate German. It's a stupid language. It's stupid and I don't like it. Who needs three genders? What the hell is that about? _Three_? Did they create a new gender while I wasn't looking?"

Professor Zwingli sighed. "You took German for a reason, Alfred."

"A language requirement!" Alfred said, dropping his head on his now-bare desk.

"You said you have friends that speak German." Zwingli said gently. "Maybe you should try talking with them. They could help."

"He moved." Alfred muttered. "To Germany."

Alfred liked Professor Zwingli. She was young, by college professor status, anyway, only in her thirties. She was from Switzerland, which apparently spoke German, and she liked Alfred enough to offer him extra help so he wouldn't fail her class.

"You're going to fail if you don't improve, Alfred."

Or, you know, try to help him not fail.

"I know…" Alfred muttered. "Maybe I should just drop this class. I'll never be any good at German."

"You don't have to become fluent. You just have to pass the class." Zwingli pointed out. "So, here, count to ten in German."

"_Ein…drei…"_

"_Zwei_. _Drei_ is three."

Alfred groaned and buried his head in his arms.

"Maybe my son could help you. He's about your age-"

"That's okay." Alfred said quickly. He'd met Vash once. He was not keen on meeting him again. "I mean…I can try…you know…talking to my friend on the phone or something…" _If he fucking calls…_

Zwingli stood up. "I think that's all the practice we're going to get out of you today, Alfred." She cleaned the papers Alfred had made a mess of. "Just practice for the test next week. Talk to someone in German, even if they can't understand you."

Alfred groaned.

"Alfred, I'm going to be honest with you." Zwingli said. "If you don't find a tutor, you are going to fail my class."

"I know." Alfred sighed. "I know."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Ludwig impatiently shifted from foot to foot, eager to leave before he was late for work.

"Oh, Ludwig, good." Professor Martin stood and shuffled through his papers. Ludwig grimaced at the mess his desk was but quickly hid the expression as Martin looked up. "I wanted to talk to you about your last essay."

"Which was that, sir?"

"The assignment on the Boston Massacre." Martin clarified, flipping through the essay in his hand. Ludwig saw a lot of red on it. "If it weren't you, Ludwig, I'd be convinced you did this five minutes before class."

"I assure you I spent hours on it, sir-"

"I know you did." Martin said, handing him the paper. "You're a good student. You turn in all your work, you finish everything on time, you're in class early every day. I _know_ you didn't half-ass this. But your facts are wrong, and you only skimmed over the main points of the trial."

Ludwig sighed and flipped through his assignment. "I don't know what to tell you, sir."

"You're a smart kid, Ludwig." Martin sighed. "I really don't want to fail you. But at this rate I don't know if you're going to pass American History."

"I just…can't tell what's important and what isn't." Ludwig said, frustrated. "All the dates just run together, I-"

"I think you need to find a tutor, Ludwig." Martin said.

"I can't afford a tutor." Ludwig told him. "I can barely afford rent."

"And I believe you. Try asking your friends, I'm sure at least one of them can give you some help." Martin flipped through his papers. "I like you Ludwig, it's possible I could give someone extra credit to help you…" He found his roster and slid his finger down it. "I have several students I know can help you…here." He quickly scribbled a few names on a post-it. "These are my top students. If you can get ahold of them, tell them to contact me and I'll make sure they'll benefit from helping you."

Ludwig took the post-it and nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'll ge-" He faltered as he looked at the list.

"Is something wrong?"

"N...no. I have to go, I have a shift downtown in a few minutes." Ludwig said hurriedly. He shook hands with Professor Martin and hurried out the door, taking another look at the list. There was no way he'd read it right…but, no, there was no mistaking it.

At the top of the list was Alfred Jones.

* * *

"Okay, so speak German." Matt said.

"Uh…uh..." Alfred flipped through his book. "_Ich…sprechen…Deutsch_."

"You sound like a drowning cat."

"German sounds like a drowning cat!"

"It's '_Ich spreche Deutsch_.' You have to conjugate your verb." Ludwig said. Alfred scoffed and stared angrily at his book.

"See, it doesn't sound like a drowning cat when _he_ says it." Matt said. Alfred scowled at him.

"I hate German."

"Understandably."

"What do you want, Hardass?" Alfred demanded, slamming his book closed.

"What's your grade in American History?" Ludwig asked.

"Uh... an A, I think. Well Martin said it was an A, like last week. It was like 104% 'cause I did that extra assignment on the Trail of Tears." Alfred said, slightly confused. "Why?"

"Are you serious?" Ludwig demanded.

"He is." Matt said. "I know, I was shocked too. It's the only class he's passing."

"I am passing other classes!"

"Your teachers are pity-passing you." Matt said. "I swear, you're like some kind of teacher whore. You just rub your loveableness all over the place and they can't bear to fail you."

"My loveableness?"

"You know what, you're just angry because you're failing German." Matt said, annoyed. "Why don't you take French? Then I can help you."

"No one wants to speak French."

"I think the French do."

"Exactly."

"Well it's French or German. Pick something and fail it, Alfred. You've always been bad with languages."

"Yeah, well, who the hell cares about other languages? I speak _American_. It's universal." Alfred insisted.

"It doesn't matter. If you fail that class I swear to God I'll kill you."

Alfred groaned. "Professor Zwingli says I should get a tutor. Or I'll fail."

"I'll tutor you."

Alfred looked up.

Ludwig sighed. "Yeah, well, I don't want to either, but I need help in American History, and you need it in German, and I believe we can work out some sort of compromise."

Alfred mulled it over. "So…I teach you American History and you teach me German?"

"Something like that."

"It's an even trade-off. No one owes anyone anything."

"Exactly."

Alfred chewed his tongue for a moment. "Deal." he said finally. "Tomorrow. We can study here, I'm working a shift."

"I would complain that you're supposed to be helping me, but if you fail that class and lose the money we put towards it I will disown you." Matt said.

"Chill, I can multitask." Alfred said.

"No you can't."

"Well I can pretend I'm multitasking. Does that count?"

"You're very lucky you're Boss's favorite or you'd be fired so many times over."

"Yup."

* * *

"Alfred! Alfred, would you stop blanking out?" A hand waved in front of his eyes. "Stupid."

Alfred jerked back into reality. "What? I wasn't…so what're we doing?" he asked, looking around.

"Science." Matt said dryly. "We have a lab, instructions on the board. Oh, please tell me you were paying attention, we're working with the burners today-"

"We get to light fires?" Alfred asked eagerly. "Hell yes!"

"Alfred, _I_ will light the fire." Matt said, picking up the striker. Alfred groaned and twisted the gas on for him. Matt snapped the striker a few times until the sparks caught and the gas lit with a soft _fwoosh_.

Alfred scanned the board. "We're burning magnesium? Sweet!"

"Alfred, I already wear glasses, if you blind me I'll kill you." Matt said seriously.

"Burning magnesium so can't blind you." Alfred scoffed, grabbing the tongs eagerly.

"Alfred, remember, fire hot." Matt said. "The emergency room already knows us by name."

"Alfred understand." Alfred grunted, pulling a strip of silvery magnesium from the dish on their table. "Fire hot. Alfred not burn Matt. Alfred like Matt."

"Shut up." Matt said, shoving him. Alfred laughed and stuck the magnesium between the tips of the tongs. They both watched anxiously at he drew the tip of the metal strip closer to the flame, ready to flinch away the moment it caught.

Alfred's muscles were pulled tight anxiously. Finally, it lit, and there was a moment while the fire caught a hold on the magnesium. A blinding light sparked.

Alfred flinched. He wasn't even sure why, all he knew was that he wasn't expecting such a fast reaction and he was already on edge. The tongs slipped from his fingers and he reached after them, but, too late-

"FUCK!" Matt jerked his hand away. "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!"

"Oh my god Matt I'm so sorry so so so so sorry, are you okay?" Alfred said, terrified. The magnesium was still burning on the table, completely ignored by the both of them.

"DAMN IT ALFRED, I SAID BE CAREFUL!" Matt shouted, nursing his fingers.

"I'm sorry!" Alfred cried. "I'm soooo sorry. Let me see-"

"NO!" Matt shook out his hand and whimpered. "Ow, ow, ow, ow,"

"Matt, I'm so sorry, are you okay-"

"NO!" Matt said, turning away from him furiously, still clutching his hand to his chest.

They'd drawn the attention of everyone in the class. Alfred chuckled nervously. "Umm… Mrs…Teacher? Can…do you think we could leave early today?"

* * *

"Hello again, Alfred."

"Hey." Alfred said brightly.

"You didn't hurt yourself again, did you?"

Alfred shook his head. "Nope, in for my brother this time."

"Matt? Is he okay?"

"Eh...I might have…burned him with magnesium."

Lili paused.

"Chemistry class." Alfred explained quickly. "I flinched."

"I hope he's okay." Lili said worriedly. "Where did you burn him?"

"I think I caught three of his fingers." Alfred said. "I dunno which ones. He wouldn't let me see."

"Magnesium burns pretty hot, doesn't it? He must have pretty bad burns." Lili said.

"Yeah, well, Matt's a good patient, like me." Alfred said brightly. "Hey, speak of the devil… OVER HERE MATT!"

Matt seemed to debate it for a moment, but he finally came over to where Alfred and Lili were talking.

"So are you gonna die?" Alfred asked.

"Fuck off." Matt said angrily. "You gave me a third degree burn, asshole."

"Can't you not feel those?"

"It's surrounded by second degree burns, fuckhead!" Matt spat. "You're lucky they gave me an ass-load of morphine or I'd strangle you!"

"Did they give you anything to take for the pain later?" Lili asked.

"Yeah, a couple of pills." Matt said, dropping from unrelenting fury to severe annoyance as he talked to Lili. "And antibiotics. I hate you, Alfred."

"Feel better, Matt!" Lili said, turning to go back to work.

"Uh, thanks." Matt said. He turned back to Alfred. "Who was that?"

"Lili." Alfred said. "She's a pre-med, she works here cleaning the rooms and stuff. She's Vash's sister, remember?"

"Oohhh, right, I remember Vash." Matt said.

"Kinda hard to forget Vash."

"I still hate you."

"I know."

* * *

"Your granddad has such beautiful land." Natasha whispered.

"I know, it's amazing." Gilbert murmured. They sat in front of the glass double doors that lead to his balcony, wrapped in a blanket together.

"We're going to get caught."

"I am an adult, I will have sex with who I want." Gilbert said quietly.

"Then why are we whispering?"

"Shut up."

Gilbert looked down at her. She was wearing his shirt, one of his button shirts, the ones Granddad made him wear.

"What?"

"You look so cute in that."

"You look cute without it."

Gilbert grinned and leaned down to kiss her. She buried her fingers in his hair, holding him in place, making the kiss last that much longer. He pulled at her waist, feeling up her back, to where her bra ought to be – ought to be, but wasn't. They fell back against the floor, ignoring the lush bed a few feet away.

Vaguely, Gilbert realized that they would be rather sore the next morning.

* * *

"You have nothing in here about the Townshend Acts."

"Are they important?"

"They're why the British troops were there in the first place!" Alfred insisted. "Okay, here, 1768, the British were sent to Boston to help enforce the Townshend Acts."

"Alright..."

"And the Americans were all 'No, take your stupid laws and go back to Britain, you bastards.'"

"Please don't paraphrase."

"I will paraphrase all day." Alfred said stubbornly. Ludwig sighed and finished scribbling the adjustment to his essay. "Okay, so you're pretty much okay with the rest of that stuff, blah blah blah…Where's Captain Preston?"

"I have no idea who that is."

"Captain Thomas Preston! The whole point was whether he yelled 'Fire' or not!" Alfred said. "Personally I think he did. The British are dicks."

"Hey!" Arthur said indignantly.

"Except you." Alfred said quickly, pecking him on the cheek. "Okay, so then you have to mention that he was acquitted, which is total bullshit, and…you don't mention that his lawyer was John Adams."

"So?"

"John Adams was the second president of the United States!" Alfred said angrily. "It's important! And he defended both the Soldiers and the Captain, which is a conflict of interest. Let me see your notes."

Ludwig sighed and pulled them out. Alfred snatched them and scanned through them.

"These make no sense."

"Which is probably why I'm failing."

"Hang on, let me…" Alfred dug through his backpack. "Okay here's my essay. I don't keep notes much."

"You got 112% on this…" Ludwig said slowly.

"I did like two pages more than he told us." Alfred said dismissively. "I got carried away. Anyway, mostly look at the second and third page, that's where I put most of the stuff you missed. I have to go make this guy a drink."

"Whatever." Ludwig sighed. Alfred hurriedly stirred together whatever the guy had ordered. He wasn't paying much attention.

"Okay, where were we?"

"Moving on to German." Ludwig said, tossing the essay aside. "I'll read it later."

"Auuurrrggg…German…" Alfred groaned. "Fine. Wait…okay here's my book. We're doing this stuff." He flipped it open to his homework.

About an hour later Alfred had finished at least three drinks and was slowly getting, if not better, then certainly louder.

"_ICH HABEN SIE KEINEN UHR!_" Alfred shouted.

"What did he say?" Matt asked, taking Alfred's fourth drink from him.

"I'm…not sure." Ludwig said slowly. "I think…I don't…have a clock? Well I think that's what he tried to say, anyway."

"Well I don't." Alfred slurred.

"Or an ID. Seriously, Alfred, drink some coffee or something."

"I_CH NICHT GERN CAFE_."

"What'd he do wrong that time?" Arthur asked.

"Nothing, actually. I'm just pretty sure he's lying." Ludwig said, closing the book at last.

"I am not." Alfred said angrily. "I don't like it."

"You drink it all the time."

"_Ich nicht gern Tee aber ich trinkt es_."

Ludwig paused. "You speak better German drunk."

"I speak better English drunk too." Alfred said. "And you know what else? _Deine Bruder ist ein schwein."_

"You're using the wrong gender."

"NO I'M NOT!" Alfred shouted. "HE'S A BITCH. TELL HIM TO FUCKING CALL."

"Alfred, seriously, shut up." Matt said, shoving a mug in his hands.

"_Ich nicht möchte cafe."_ Alfred said.

"Is he really speaking German now?" Arthur asked curiously. "Like, correctly?"

"I wouldn't call it correct, but I understand him." Ludwig said. "You're completely drunk."

"He does that." Matt sighed. "He took a final for a class he never went to completely wasted. He got a B."

"…You're smarter drunk."

"Hey." Alfred said, swirling the coffee in his mug. "I don't get drunk. I get awesome."

Ludwig chuckled. "Gilbert taught you that."

"Yes he did." Alfred drained the cup in his hands, letting it spill out over the corners of his mouth. "And it's fucking true."

"Alfred, you're anything but awesome right now." Matt sighed.

"Don't lie, dude, it's unbecoming."

* * *

"Alfred?" Matt called worriedly, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Go away!" Alfred shouted through the door. Matt winced at the sound of retching.

"You fucking idiot, I have to piss, you better let me in before I'm late for class!" Matt said angrily, pounding on the door. "I told you not to drink so much!"

"I didn't drink that much!" Alfred shouted. The door opened and Alfred appeared, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "I think I've got a bug or something…can I stay home?"

"Who am I, Mom?" Matt scoffed. "Do what you want. If you fail, I'm going to kill you. But do what you want."

Alfred groaned and turned to collapse on his bed. "I'm siiiick…"

"You're not sick, you're hungover." Matt told him. "Now get up."

"Nooooo…." Alfred whined. "Maaaattt…Don't you trust me? I know the difference between sick and hungover…"

"So do I. Get your stupid hungover ass out of bed and go to math." Matt said angrily. "This is your own fault, why would you drink so much when you had an early class the next morning?"

"Because I am a lover of language." Alfred moaned.

"Get up." Matt said. "End of discussion."

Alfred groaned.

* * *

"Alfred!"

Alfred hurriedly tried to look like he was paying attention. "Wha-Yeah?"

"What is x?"

Alfred squinted at the board. "It's…uh…six...divided by…four…is…two...no…uh…"

There was an awkward pause as Alfred tried to catch up with the problem Professor Hardass was pointing to. Finally, he decided admitting defeat would probably be his best option now.

"I don't know, sir."

"Why don't you know, Alfred?"

"Because I wasn't paying attention?"

Professor Hardass sighed. "And why weren't you paying attention?"

"Uh…" Alfred tried to focus on the conversation at hand. "B…because...can you excuse me?"

He didn't wait for an answer to dart outside and to the nearest garbage can. The contents of his stomach shifted to the back of his throat and hit the bottom of the can with a disgusting splash. Alfred spat in the can for good measure and wiped the sweat off his forehead, looking around, praying no one had seen that. He was alone, thank god for that. The door had shut behind him and it was eerily quiet outside, too early for people to be gathered on campus for no reason.

He groaned and leaned on the garbage can, trying to ignore the smell. The last time he'd thrown up...

He shook his head. That was completely irrelevant. And he really didn't want to go back to class now. He'd left his bag inside…he could always get it later. Matt would pick it up, if he knew it had his books in it… Alfred sighed. Matt had the keys…and home was at least a half an hour walk away…

The bar was just down the street, though. He'd gotten his own key, and _that _was in his pocket so he wouldn't lose it before his shift tonight. He could just stay there until Matt was out of class and let him go home.

Yeah, that sounded good. Alfred wiped his mouth and turned to leave, feeling rather sorry for whoever changed the garbage around here.

* * *

"For the last time, _no_."

Alfred rubbed his eyes and yawned. He'd crammed himself into a corner behind the counter in the bar and must have fallen asleep. At least he felt better. Maybe he _was_ hungover…

"Alright, you're not listening, we're not _interested_."

Alfred froze. How long had he slept? Had Matt opened the bar already? No...that didn't sound like Matt…It sounded like…

"You want the Knights on us, don't you?" Someone groaned in exasperation and slammed their hands on the counter. "No…No! Okay, shut up. Just shut up. They already want me dead…are you kidding? After what he _did_? No…no not the idiot, he's useless, I still don't know why he's still alive, it's the _other_ one. No, not the one you crippled. His brother. Oh, _now_ you remember…."

Alfred swallowed nervously. It sounded like…Boss. Roderich's Dad. He lapsed into German that sounded suspiciously like violent cursing and Alfred pressed against the bar. Somehow, he didn't think Boss would appreciate being overheard right now.

"No, of course not." Boss groaned. Alfred heard him sink onto a barstool. "No. No, he doesn't know. Because I know, alright? Look, he's in Germany now anyway, no one listened to him before the accident, they don't even care what he says now. What _about_ Alfred?"

Alfred swallowed nervously.

"As far as I know. The kid is a complete moron. I don't know how he ties his shoes by himself. How he and his brother are even related…."

Boss stood and walked past the counter. Alfred's breath caught in his throat, but he didn't seem to notice him sitting there. He paused, hand on the door to the kitchen, listening to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

"No. You can't kill them. I don't _care_, if you want your money they better stay alive."

The door swung shut behind him. A moment later, Alfred heard the back door slam shut. He didn't wait to see if he was coming back. He pushed himself up and darted through the front doors, shoving the key in them hurriedly and throwing them shut behind him without bothering to re-lock them.

* * *

"I believe this belongs to your brother."

Ludwig handed him Alfred's bag. Matt took it hesitantly.

"And…where is the rest of him?"

"He left in the middle of math."

"Please tell me you're joking." Matt groaned, shifting Alfred's bag onto his shoulder.

Ludwig shrugged. "Haven't seen him since."

"Yeah. Of course not. Because the last time he wandered off on his own like that nothing bad happened." Matt muttered. "Thanks, Ludwig."

"Good luck finding him." Ludwig called after him as he turned, looking through his own bag for his keys.

"Yeah, yeah…" Matt held his keys in his teeth and dug in his pocket for his phone. Damn it, Alfred… He quickly flipped it open and stabbed Alfred's number in with his thumb.

* * *

Alfred's phone rang and he quickly fished it from his pocket.

"Matt!" he said excitedly, pulling it open.

"Fred, where the hell are you-"

"Down the street from the bar, you gotta come get me." Alfred ran his fingers through his hair. "Shit…shit...shit…"

"What did you do, Alfred?" Matt demanded. Alfred heard the car start in the background.

"Nothing!" Alfred insisted. "I…I overheard…" Alfred glanced around, trying to shake the feeling that he was being watched. "J…just get here like now, okay?"

"I'm driving down now, just don't move." Matt said, sounding exasperated. Alfred nodded and heard the line go dead. He swallowed anxiously and flipped it closed, turning a slow circle. Why did he feel like he was being _watched_?

He took a few more steps and came to a stop at the corner, leaning against the street sign. He looked up curiously, not completely sure where it was, and froze.

How far had he walked? He hadn't been paying much attention, he'd mostly been trying to get away from the bar before Boss showed up.

He looked down the street he'd come to. It was lined with shops, an old thrift store was directly in front of him. Farther down there was a pawn shop, and a little past that there was a convenience store at the corner, where there was another intersection.

A horn honked behind him and Alfred jumped.

"Come on, idiot, get in." Matt said angrily. Alfred nodded and reached blindly for the door, still looking down the street. He found it and collapsed into the seat, forced to look down to shut the door.

"What were you doing out here?" Matt demanded, pulling away from the curb. Alfred shook himself off and turned to look at him. "You said you were by the bar…the bar is about three blocks back that way."

"I dunno, I guess I got lost." Alfred said, glancing over his shoulder.

Matt sighed and looked in his rearview mirror.

"That's the street you were on, wasn't it?"

"I can recognize all the sounds." Alfred said, still looking back. "There was this one bird…every now and then it wouldn't shut up for about an hour… The door, on the pawn shop, I think, has a bell on it. Most people would come in…the afternoon? I don't know, whenever the sun was angled down."

Matt was quiet for a while.

"You heard all that?"

"There wasn't much to do besides listen." Alfred shrugged.

"How'd you hear it? I thought you were underground?"

"We were." The scene came back in his mind's eye. "There was a vent, up in the corner. I used to sleep under it. You could hear everything from there."

"You never did say why you were wandering around out here instead of in class."

"Oh, right, Matt, I was in the bar," Alfred said eagerly, turning to him again. "and Boss was there, on the phone, and he was talking about...about what happened and then about Gilbert and-"

"He what?"

"He was on the phone!" Alfred repeated impatiently.

"I got that part."

"And he was talking to someone, I dunno who, and he said _not_ to kill me and Ludwig, I think, and he mentioned 'the one you crippled' which has to be Gilbert which means he was telling the truth and I think-"

"I think you fell asleep, Alfred." Matt said calmly.

"Bu…what?"

"You probably dreamed it." Matt said, shaking his head. "Come on, Alfred, you know you have an overactive imagination."

"That doesn't mean I'm a liar!"

"I didn't say you were lying." Matt glanced at him. "Come to think of it, you do look a little pale, maybe you are sick-"

"I know what I heard!" Alfred insisted.

"Okay, Alfred." Matt said, and even Alfred could tell he was humoring him. "Why don't you go home for the rest of the day?"

Alfred deflated. "Whatever."

Matt stopped in front of their apartment building and handed him his bag.

"Make sure you get on your homework, though."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred muttered, taking his bag. "You going back to class?"

"I'll be back at four. I'll cover your shift."

"Whatever." Alfred said again. He shut the door, feeling a little guilty as Matt drove away. He'd probably driven him out of his mind by just vanishing like that again. He ought to at least thank him for taking his shift.

He shrugged and turned to climb the stairs. The door was unlocked, probably because they'd been in such a hurry this morning. Whatever. He didn't have his keys anyway.

He threw his bag on Matt's bed and collapsed on his own, burying his face in the unmade blankets. Something pinched his hip and he reached down to pull it out of his pocket.

His phone. Right. He turned his head out of the pillows and stared at it. Stupid phone.

He glared at it for a while and finally flipped it open. This was going to cost a fortune and Matt was going to be furious and he didn't care. Not even a little bit.

He keyed in the number and hesitated, thumb hovering over the glowing green call button. This _was_ going to cost him a fortune…No. He didn't care. It wasn't his fault, anyway. Fuckhead, not calling for _weeks_...

The phone rang _forever_. He lay there, half-expecting to be sent to voicemail before the next ring.

Just ringing and more ringing and-

"Hello?"

"You're an ass."

* * *

Gilbert laughed. "Why?"

"Because you haven't called and it's been like a month!"

Gilbert sighed and leaned on his balcony. "Three weeks."

"I'm glad you've been counting."

"D'you want me to call you back on Granddad's phone so you don't have a phone bill the size of my medical insurance premiums?"

"What?"

Gilbert sighed. "I can put the call on Granddad's bill instead of yours."

"I don't know, are you gonna wait three weeks to call me back?"

"If I don't call you right back you can call me again."

"You might not pick up…"

"You sound like a paranoid girlfriend." Gilbert said in exasperation. "I'm so bored, Natasha is out of town and Vargas locked the door again."

"…none of what you said made sense."

"I'll call you back, okay?"

"Fine. But if you don't call in the next five minutes we aren't friends anymore."

"I wouldn't risk not being your Love Monkey anymore." Gilbert said dryly. He hung up as Alfred laughed into the phone.

"Someone from home?" Mr. Vargas asked.

"Yeah." Gilbert sighed. "Like my best friend. He's mad at me for not calling him."

"Why haven't you?"

Gilbert scowled at him and snatched the phone from his nightstand. Who had a phone on their nightstand? Who got called that much in the middle of the night?

"Don't you have work to do?"

Mr. Vargas sighed. "Yes, sir."

He gave a very short bow and left. Gilbert stared after him for a minute, feeling a little bad. Mr. Vargas was the only one of Granddad's servants that actually talked to him. The rest just skittered away or gave him one-word answers.

He sighed and keyed in Alfred's number. He was probably counting…

"Three hundred and five seconds!" Alfred said angrily. Yup. "That was _forever_-"

"Sorry!" Gilbert said, going back outside. "I got distracted by the help-"

"'The help'?" Alfred demanded. "Did you just say 'the help'?"

"Ah, sorry." Gilbert said, rubbing his forehead. "I can't help it, it's what Granddad and Natasha call them."

"Okay, who is Natasha?" Alfred asked. His voice was suddenly more excited. "Is somebody getting hot German ass over there?"

"Yeah, she is." Gilbert laughed. "She's Russian."

"Hot."

"Damn right." Gilbert said. "We met on the plane over. Berlin was just a stop, she was going home to Belarus-"

"Where's Belarus?"

"I dunno, Eastern Europe. Anyway, we ran into each other a few days later in a Starbucks-"

"They have Starbucks there?"

"They have Starbucks _everywhere_, Alfred." Gilbert said. "If you're gonna keep doing that I'm not telling you anything."

"Sorry. Continue."

"Thank you. So we met up in Starbucks and we were talking and she said she was doing an internship here in Germany for a while and we were talking and she got up and kissed me and said she'd have to stop by Granddad's house some time."

"She just…kissed you."

"I know. That's what I said."

"So you guys hooked up?" Alfred asked eagerly.

"Repeatedly." Gilbert said, looking down at the groundskeeper making his rounds.

Alfred laughed again. "Damn. You guys serious or just fuck buddies?"

"I dunno, it's sorta just for fun. We'll find out when her internship is over." Gilbert sighed. "So what about you and Arthur? Still fucking in the closet at the bar?"

"Don't diss it unless you've tried it." Alfred said seriously. "And yeah, we're solid. I hope Matt doesn't tell him I wandered off today, he'll have a fit-"

"You just wandered off?" Gilbert laughed. "Don't you think that would drive them crazy?"

"Matt can suck it anyway. Who doesn't believe their own brother…"

There was an awkward pause while Gilbert waited for Alfred to catch up.

"Right! Well, have I mentioned I believe you now?" Alfred said quickly.

"Uh huh. Why?"

"I was in the bar 'cause that's where I crash when Matt has the keys-"

"Why did you need a place to crash?"

"'cause I threw up in a garbage can, it's a long story-"

"Shorten it."

"Uh…German is a stupid language and your brother drove me to drink and Matt never trusts me, ever."

Gilbert paused.

"Maybe make it a bit longer."

"This isn't the important part!" Alfred insisted. "Look, in the bar, I heard Boss talking-"

"Boss?"

"Mr. Edelstein. Roderich's dad. It's easier to call him Boss."

"Right."

"He was on the phone and talking and he was talking about…I don't even know…but he mentioned me, actually he called me a complete idiot, which is unfair, I mean, I know I'm not that smart but-"

"Alfred."

"Okay, and then he mentioned you, or, at least, he mentioned 'the one you crippled', and I'm pretty sure he mentioned Ludwig…I mean, that sounds like proof to me…"

"Who was he talking to?" Gilbert asked, frowning.

"I don't know, he didn't really say….Roderich?"

"What else was he talking about?"

"Uh…he said something about…Knights."

"Knights?"

"I dunno. Maybe it's what they called themselves. The guys that were gonna cut us up for parts. He was afraid they were going to attack them…and…I think he didn't want…me or Ludwig killed because then they would attack…But that doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe Granddad knows, he knew Roderich's Granddad or something." Gilbert said thoughtfully.

"But it means you _were_ hit!" Alfred said excitedly. "Who do you think he was talking to?"

"Probably Roderich." Gilbert said, glaring at the groundskeeper again.

"D'you think?"

"Yes."

"Well, I mean, maybe…he could have been talking to anyone, right? I don't know-"

"So you still don't believe me."

"I'm saying you're getting all caught up on Roderich!" Alfred said angrily. "I'm just trying to look at it objectively. Yeah, it could have been Roderich, but it's not like we know everyone who ever drove a car through Colorado, and all those bastards that were part of that whole group…there were like ten that I saw, and I bet there's more-"

"But Roderich makes the most sense!" Gilbert insisted.

Alfred sighed. "Alright. Alright, fine, we can go with that for now."

"That doesn't mean you believe me."

"Why would you know, anyway?"

Gilbert sighed and stared at the gate in the distance. Damn, Granddad had a lot of land…

"How's Ludwig?"

"You haven't called him?" Alfred asked, surprised.

"I…you know..." Gilbert said slowly. "I didn't want to…bother…you guys…"

"Yeah, don't go distracting us from our exciting lives." Alfred said sarcastically. "That's not why you haven't called, is it?"

"Don't be stupid." Gilbert said angrily. "I've been busy-!"

"'cause you know we've all been pissed at you for not calling, right?"

Gilbert paused. "Really?"

"Yeah! You said you'd call all the time and for all we know your plane went down over the Atlantic!"

Gilbert laughed. "You guys missed me?"

"Antonio and Francis are planning to send you a box of condoms and booze." Alfred said. "I don't know why, exactly. As far as they're concerned you don't have any use for either."

"You gonna send me more of that non-alcoholic stuff?" Gilbert asked. "I drank it all like two weeks ago."

"It's awesome, right? Yeah, I'll get you some more…shipping is gonna be a bitch though…maybe I can just get it sent straight to you…"

"I can ask Granddad to pay for it somehow…" Gilbert said.

"Dude, is your granddad really that ridiculously rich?"

"Do you know where I'm standing right now?" Gilbert asked. "My balcony."

Alfred was quiet for a minute. "You have…a balcony?"

"If I squint I can see the security guard at the front gate." Gilbert said.

"...Damn."

"It's ridiculous here." Gilbert said. "There's so much money I don't even know what to do with myself. My bathroom is bigger than your apartment. And they have separate bathrooms and, like, toilet rooms here so I have _two_. And they both branch off of my room. It's like…an entire wing. I have, like, three rooms in my room."

"How?" Alfred demanded.

"There's the bedroom part, with the bed, and the main part, it's got couches and a table and stuff, that's where I am now, the balcony comes off that part, and the two bathrooms and a walk-in closet that's big enough to sleep in."

"Have you?"

"Yeah, actually." Gilbert said, looking over his shoulder. "I wanted to test that theory…Slept like a baby."

"Fuck, man, I gotta come visit you."

"I know." Gilbert said, leaning his back against the balcony. "It's fucking awesome here. Maybe Spring Break."

Alfred groaned. "That's so far awaaaay…"

"You've got classes, dipshit."

"I know…" Alfred moaned. "And I guess I can't miss German-"

"You're taking German?"

"I'm failing German."

"How?" Gilbert laughed. "It's so easy."

"I_ch hast nicht gut Deutsch_."

Gilbert paused. "I see the problem."

"Shut up. Maybe if your bastard face called more I could practice."

"Why don't you talk to Ludwig?"

"'cause me and him are in a bit of a disagreement." Alfred said. "But we're tutoring each other, so I kind of am."

"A disagreement?"

"It's a long story." Alfred said. "But he needed help in American History and I'm failing German so…that worked out. Well, sort of, I think my German is getting worse."

"You're tutoring _him_?"

"Yeah, he's like failing American History."

"That I'm not surprised about." Gilbert said. "He's always been bad at history. But you're _not_?"

"It's like the one class I'm passing."

"How much are you passing by?"

"Uhh…I think my grade was…101 percent, last I checked…"

Gilbert paused. "Are you being serious right now?"

"Serious as a tree to the face." Alfred said, sounding bored.

"Ha ha."

"I knew you'd appreciate my humor."

"You're lucky I really want that beer."

"I know." Alfred said. "Hey, what time is it there?"

"Uh…" Gilbert glanced at the clock. "Like 8:20."

"In the morning?"

"Evening."

"Are you ahead or behind?"

"Ahead." Gilbert said. "I think it's like…nine hours ahead?"

"Damn." Alfred said. "Aw, crap, now I'm gonna have to figure out when I can call you…around classes too! Fuuuuck…."

Gilbert laughed. "Chill, Fred. So why are you home now, anyway?"

"'cause I vomited, remember?"

"I thought you were hungover?"

"God, you sound like Matt." Alfred scoffed. "I'm sick. Don't you think I notice the difference between sick vomit and beer vomit?"

"Uh…"

"Well I do!" Alfred insisted.

"Whatever." Gilbert said. He leaned back and looked at the stars absently. "So how's Liz and ol' Roddy?"

"They've been arguing, actually." Alfred said. "Liz is pissed at Rod for something, I don't know. I don't think he does either, come to think of it…"

Gilbert cackled. "I'm sorry I'm not there to see it."

"So I take it you're not still pining after Liz?"

"I was never pining!"

Alfred didn't say anything.

"Alright…maybe I was...a little…but I'm not anymore!"

"Is Natasha as hot as Liz?"

"Of course she is." Gilbert said indignantly. Privately...maybe...half a point less…well she was skinnier. He was counting that.

"So. Liz and you are finally over? You've moved on to Natasha?"

"Pretty much." Gilbert sighed. "Feels good, actually. Didn't realize how miserable it was making me."

"Yeah, getting over your ex-girlfriends is usually pretty healthy."

"Shut up."

"Wouldn't it be beautiful if he caught her cheating or something?" Alfred sighed. "It'd be better if it was with you but you're all the way over there…"

Gilbert chuckled nervously. "Yeah, that would be…that would be great."

"You,...hold on, did you hit that?" Alfred asked eagerly. "_After_ the engagement?"

"Y...aah…sorta."

"Seriously? When?" Alfred demanded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"The night Ludwig got kidnapped."

"Ooo, pity sex…"

"No way." Gilbert said indignantly. "_I_ hit _that_."

"What, you just jumped her?"

"Well she didn't fight back…"

Alfred cackled. "Yeeaah, that's my boy."

Gilbert grinned. "Shut up…"

Alfred sighed contentedly.

"You should call Ludwig."

"I know."

"Maybe he'll stop being such an ass."

"Come on, man, he's not that bad..." Gilbert said defensively.

"Your brother is an ass." Alfred said firmly.

"Well you're an idiot, you don't see me complaining." Gilbert said angrily.

"What? You call him an ass all the time-"

"Yeah, _I'm_ allowed to." Gilbert said. "No one said you were."

"Why are _you_-"

"Matt is a passive-aggressive dick."

Alfred was quiet for a minute.

"Okay, fine, your point has been made."

"I'll call him, though." Gilbert sighed.

"Seriously. I'm pretty sure he misses you like crazy. He's just, you know…proud? Does proud work?"

Gilbert laughed. "Sure, let's go with that…You still healing up good?"

"Yup. Built like an ox. The doctors are amazed."

"Sounds like you. The doctors here are convinced I suffer from an immune system disorder."

"Do you?"

"No, I'm just freakishly unhealthy." Gilbert snorted.

"You're not still dinged up, are you? I thought you were good except for the mental stuff?"

"I am, mostly. My face is still screwed up, and my arm is still pretty much busted, but all the internal stuff is fixed."

"Like broken ribs and torn shit?"

"Yeah, there was a lot of internal damage they missed at first." Gilbert said. "I'm good now. Everything looks normal, healing okay… And I'm like, completely fine with walking and stuff now. I can write again."

"Does it still look like a kindergartener's?"

"No!" Gilbert said angrily. "It looks like handwriting! It's changed though, it doesn't look like it used to. Neater, though."

"Well at least it's better."

"Yeah. I dunno." Gilbert sighed and finally sat down, back leaning against the balcony. "I mean…it sorta feels like a part of me got replaced, you know? I mean, my handwriting was crap, but…it was mine. I recognized it. Now it looks more like Ludwig's. All perfect and neat."

Alfred sighed into the phone. "Yeah, I get what you mean…but it's still yours."

"I miss my old writing." Gilbert said miserably. "Natasha says I'm being stupid…I dunno. I wish I could get it back but I can't write like that anymore, even if I try."

"Natasha just doesn't understand you like I do." Alfred said. "Of course you miss your handwriting, it was part of who you were, and now it's different. It's like getting someone else's hand sewn on your arm."

Gilbert laughed. "Your gayness is showing, Alfred."

"Is it turning you on?"

"Not even a little bit."

Alfred sighed. "Shame. But seriously, man, don't feel like an idiot for wanting your old handwriting back. I still feel like my emotions aren't even mine, 's why I don't like taking my pills."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. They mess with your head, making you feel like you're supposed to…who's the asshole telling me how I'm supposed to feel anyway?" Alfred raged. "I'm not hurting anyone! But, then, if I don't take my pills I always end up pushing people away, like Matt and Artie, and I feel bad because I make their lives harder…"

"That…really sucks, actually." Gilbert said slowly.

Alfred laughed. "Never woulda thought you'd have to say that to someone else, did you?"

"Not really, no."

"It's all good, though. I mean, if I don't take my pills I can go into major depression and stuff."

"That...doesn't sound good."

"Well, I mean, it's good that I take my meds. It's sorta like my emotions don't know what the fuck to do and the pills give them a baseline."

Gilbert sighed. His life might suck, but at least his head was on right. Not that he'd ever mention to Alfred that his wasn't. "So you don't mind taking your pills?"

"The weird part is I only don't mind taking them when I'm already on them." Alfred said. "It's…weird. I don't know sometimes…it's like trying to figure out which is the dream and which is real life. Sometimes you start doubting yourself, even when everyone insists you're awake."

Gilbert nodded. "Yeah. I get what you're saying."

"So. This conversation is incredibly depressing."

"Yes, it is."

Gilbert sighed. "Well I'm glad."

"What? Why?"

"I've finally found someone whose life sucks almost as much as mine."

Alfred laughed.

* * *

"Hey, Fred." Matt said, feeling his forehead. "You still out of it?"

"Nyeeehhh…" Alfred pulled the blankets up over his head. "Don't stand there. I'll vomit on you, I swear I will."

Matt laughed. "Okay, fine. Stay home another day. You should work on your schoolwork though-"

"I'll vomit on it."

"I got it. You'll vomit on anything that's bothering you."

"Exactly." Alfred moaned. "I'm probably all contagious and stuff, you should stay away…"

"Usually stuff like this is contagious before you start showing symptoms. So I'm fucked either way."

"Awwww I'm sorry Mattie…" Alfred mumbled.

"You just don't want to have to take care of me."

Alfred buried his head under the blankets. "You get grumpy when you're sick."

Matt smacked him gently. "Shut up. I should be careful or I'll spread it to everyone."

"Give it to everyone." Alfred cackled. "Epidemic on the campus."

"Oh, shut up, you sick bastard." Matt sighed. "I have to get to class. If you vomit anywhere that isn't the toilet I will kill you."

"Got it."

"Oh," Matt paused in the doorway. "and feel better."

Alfred snorted.


	26. Lines are Rarely Sympathetic

"Feeling better?"

"He is now." Arthur mumbled. Alfred laughed.

"Hell yes." He pushed himself off Arthur, who was asleep and partially naked. "You're home early."

"I'll try and remember to warn you next time." Matt said, rolling his eyes.

Arthur pulled Alfred's hands off the waistband of his pants. "Alfred, stop, I have a night class, I have to go get ready-"

"Skip it, I'm siiiick-"

"You're fine, and I skipped History for you, let go of my shirt!"

"But I like it off-"

"Alfred, get off me."

Alfred pinned him down on the bed and sat on him. "No."

"Alfred!" Arthur squirmed angrily. "Get the fuck off me! I'm going to-"

"Language, Artie." Alfred scolded.

"I swear to God, Alfred-"

"God doesn't help fags, Artie."

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME."

"As entertaining as this is, you have homework I'm sure you haven't even started, Alfred." Matt said.

"I started it!"

"Because I made you." Arthur grumbled.

"And then you distracted me, so who's fault is that?"

"Shut the fuck up and GET OFF ME."

"No."

"Alfred, it's not polite to sit on people." Matt called from the kitchen. "Even your boyfriend."

"Do you sit on Katyusha?"

Matt turned slightly red. "That's not the-"

"So yes."

"Fine, I tried, sit on him until the end of time. I'm going out."

"Alfred-!"

"Hush, you." Alfred put his hand over Arthur's mouth and turned his attention back to Matt. "Where are you going?"

"That's none of your-"

"Are you going to _Katyusha's_?"

"Alfred, shut up."

"Are you seriously embarrassed about going out with your girlfriend?" Alfred demanded.

"I'm not _embarrassed_. I just don't have to tell _you_ what I'm-"

"I am literally sitting on my boyfriend right now."

"I noticed." Matt said dryly. "You're not bashful, I got it-"

"Matt, I would like you to tell me what you are _actually_ doing."

"Alfred-"

"Tell your brother!"

"Shut up-"

"Ma-OW!" Alfred jerked his hand away from Arthur's mouth. "You bit me!"

"Argue with him when you aren't sitting on me! Do something about this or get off!"

"Oh, alright, but don't move, I'm coming back for you." Alfred rolled off him and hit the floor awkwardly. "I'm okay…Okay Matt, wait up-!"

"Alfred, stop-"

"No, tell me what you're _actually_ doing."

Both of them ignored Arthur slipping past them out the door.

"Alfred I don't have to tell you anything, you aren't my mother-"

"Mom wouldn't care if you were going to suck the neighbor's-"

"Alfred!"

"You can't tell your own brother what you're doing." Alfred shook his head slowly. "Your twin! Come on, we share DNA!"

"Don't remind me." Matt walked across the room to pick up his keys.

Alfred followed him. "Matt, come on, are you taking her to dinner? Movie? Orgy?"

"No, Alfred, I will not discuss my love life with you."

"Why nooooot?" Alfred whined. "Are you secretly gay? Is that what this is about? Because Dad will be so disappointed to lose his only normal son-"

"Alfred, I'm not gay."

"Not even a little?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Because I think Francis was looking at you the other day-"

"Francis looks at everyone, and no, Alfred, I am not gay."

"Maybe you should try it, it's pretty awesome-"

"Alfred!"

"Okay, fine, I'm just saying." Alfred sighed. "Now, where are you taking her?"

"Stop."

"It's the orgy, isn't it?"

"I'm taking her to dinner downtown and then we're going to the park!" Matt said angrily. "Now would you-"

"And then?"

"And then we're going home."

Alfred frowned. "You forgot the fun part."

"No, I didn't."

"The fuckin-"

"I have to go, I'm already late-"

"Matt, come on, why aren't you doing it tonight? Are you just waiting to see or are you fighting or something?"

"No, we're just not."

"You go to her place all the time, why aren't you-…oh my god."

"What?" Matt demanded.

"You haven't had sex with her."

"I have to go!" Matt pulled his arms through his jacket hurriedly.

"Oh my god!" Alfred followed him. "Oh my god, what have you been _doing_ at her place?"

"We have a bottle of wine and relax, it's not-!"

"WHY HAVEN'T YOU HAD SEX YET?"

"Because we haven't, just get off my back about it-"

"Matt, I can't be…wait."

"Wait what, Alfred? I'm _late-_"

"Matt, Matt, you…are you a virgin?"

Matt turned bright red. "I have to go-!"

"MATT, YOU'RE A VIRGIN!"

"I AM NOT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"MY TWIN BROTHER HAS NEVER HAD SEX!" Alfred shouted in disbelief. "YOU'RE A _VIRGIN?_ WHAT THE CRAP?"

"SHUT UP ALFRED!" Matt slapped his hand over Alfred's mouth. "Please, please shut up."

"Are you really?" Alfred pulled his hand away eagerly. "Are you actually a virgin?"

"I…maybe...yeah, okay, yeah, I've never had sex, please don't make a big deal about this-"

"Does Katyusha know?"

"No, she thought it was normal that we sit in her apartment and drink cheap wine-yes, idiot." Matt snapped. "Now please, _please_ stop, we'll talk about this later, I'm late." He pulled open the door. "And _don't_ go telling people, okay? That includes Gilbert."

Alfred's face fell instantly. "But-"

"If you tell _anyone_. I will kill you."

"Matt-"

"NOBODY."

"Alright, alright!" Alfred said sadly.

"I'm serious."

"I know." Alfred watched Matt pull his jacket on again. "So…are you gonna-"

"Goodbye, Alfred."

"YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE MISSING!"

* * *

"Have you eaten…this week?" Feliciano asked tentatively, watching Elizabeta devour her hamburger.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just hungry, get off my case." Elizabeta shrugged. "Maybe it's just pre-wedding jitters, I don't know. I've been eating like crazy."

Feliciano shrugged and returned to his meal, picking absently at his fries.

"What? Aren't you going to eat them?"

"I dunno."

"Stop being so picky, Felice." Elizabeta scolded. "You're so weird." She finished her burger and wiped the remaining sauce onto a fry.

Feliciano shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "So, are we still going dress shopping next week?"

"Of course!" Elizabeta looked sadly at her half-finished meal. "I should really be dieting…Oh well, I'll start tomorrow."

"Famous last words."

"Shush, Feli." Elizabeta scolded.

"So we're going out on the first, right?"

"Yeah…wait." Elizabeta frowned and pawed through her purse for her phone. "What day is it?"

"Thursday."

"No, the date. What date is it?"

"The twenty-third."

"Is it really?" Elizabeta checked her phone.

"Yeah." Feliciano said. "Why? Expecting something?"

_Kind of_.

"Oh, no, just forgot what day it was, I guess." She mumbled, smiling when Feliciano believed her without any kind of doubt. Gosh, he was easy to convince…She silently counted back the days, trying to think...but she couldn't remember…anything. Not for the last…the last...

"I have to go." Elizabeta said suddenly. Feliciano looked up at her.

"Why? I'm sorry I said you hadn't eaten this week, I-"

"No, it's not you, I just…I forgot I had to pick up some things from the store."

"What things?" Feliciano asked eagerly. "I need to get some stuff, we could-"

"Lady things." Elizabeta said firmly. "That kind of stuff."

"Oh." Feliciano looked disappointed. She'd have to make it up to him later. "Okay. See you later!"

"Bye, Feli!" she called, digging through her purse for her keys.

"Alright! Bye, Liz!"

Elizabeta hurriedly stumbled out to her car. She really hoped Feliciano didn't think she'd left because of him, it was stupid to leave so suddenly, really, but...but she had to know. She just had to. It was too important.

She kept counting in her head as she started the car and pulled out into the street, mouthing the dates to herself. It was February now, January…December? God, now she couldn't remember…

But Roderich always wore something…God why wasn't she still on the pill? What the hell was wrong with her? She'd just let it run out, thinking, hey, she was getting married, and…that was what couples did, right?

God, she was so _stupid!_

* * *

"Hey, Liz." Antonio said brightly, leaning on the counter.

"Hey, Toni." she said, smiling. Crap. Why did every store in the entire fucking town have someone she _knew_ working the damn counter?

Oh well. If she had to choose…she'd probably be fine with the obvious Spaniard of any of them. Maybe she should buy some decoy stuff, make it look like she was just a routine mission…how much money did she have again?

"Have you heard from Gilbert, per chance?"

"Why? Why would I have heard from him?" Elizabeta demanded. "There's no reason to assume he would call _me_. We aren't dating anymore, or something."

"Well that wasn't suspicious." Antonio said, watching her wander around the store. Couldn't he look someplace else just _once_? "He hasn't called, is all…but now I'm curious."

"Oh, no, I haven't heard from him." Elizabeta said quickly. "I think Alfred said he called him…"

"That bastard…" Antonio muttered. "Damn it, I don't remember Gilbert's number…Maybe I can get it from Alfred…if he's willing to share his _Love Monkey_, that is…"

With Antonio distracted, Elizabeta quickly snatched what she'd come here for. Antonio looked up.

"Aha. So that's why you're so nervous."

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeta demanded.

"Is someone a little _late_?" Antonio asked, grinning.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Elizabeta said angrily.

"You're not gonna shoplift that, are you?" Antonio asked. "Because I'm the only one working for like five hours."

Elizabeta debated for a moment. But Roderich would be suspicious if she just disappeared later… And Antonio would start talking…

She finally accepted defeat and set the box on the counter.

"I hate you."

"Not as much as you hate yourself, I'm sure." Antonio said gleefully, scanning the box. "Twenty-six fifty."

"Twenty-six dollars for _this_?" Elizabeta demanded.

"No." Antonio said. "Six fifty for the pregnancy test. Twenty dollars to keep my mouth shut about it."

* * *

Elizabeta paced the bathroom. Why did this take so fucking _long_?

Oh, god, what if it was positive? Elizabeta chewed her lip. Please be negative. Oh please, please, _please_ be negative…

Although, would it be all that bad to have kids now? She did…_want_ kids, and she was getting married this summer…It wasn't _that_ bad…

But she was _nineteen_…This was crazy. She had to finish school…Although she'd always had a pleasant dream of being a housewife. And Roderich was _filthy_ rich…she didn't _need_ to finish school now. She could wait. Yeah. She didn't need to finish school now, she could come back, and she _would_, if she needed to. She could drop out a semester or two. She didn't even need a degree, really. She didn't need to work at all… If Roderich went to work with his dad, like he was planning, once he'd finished his business degree, they'd never have to worry about money at all.

Her phone vibrated across the bathroom counter and she grabbed it. Three minutes. It had been three minutes. Time was up.

Elizabeta swallowed anxiously and looked at the box, double-checking the instructions. Two lines for positive. One for negative.

She closed her eyes and picked up the pregnancy test. It didn't matter. Either way. If she was pregnant or not, both were good. How would she tell Roderich?

Better yet, how would she tell Gilbert? That would be fun…

Her eyes snapped open.

Gilbert.

Crap.

* * *

Two lines.

Two _fucking_ lines. Two lines of death. Two of the least sympathetic lines in the world, and that was counting everything she'd ever done in Geometry.

Because those two lines were _taunting_ her.

"You're pregnant!" they laughed. "Ha ha! And the baby is Gilbert's! Ha ha ha!"

She pressed herself into the corner of the bathroom, leaving the light off, leaving herself alone in the dark, punching in the numbers she knew by heart, because there was one person she could think to call right now, and she wasn't fucking calling him, so that left…

"Hey, Lizzie! Did you get that stuff you were picking up?" Feliciano asked brightly. God, why was he so happy?"

"Feli, I have to talk to you. Privately."

Feliciano's energy seemed to fade. "Are you okay? Did something happen? You're not hurt, are you? Should I call Ludwig-"

"No. No, are you alone?"

"Yeah. Lovi's out."

"You have to promise that whatever I tell you _you will not speak of again_."

Feliciano hesitated. "Are…okay. Okay I promise. I won't tell _anyone_."

"Even Ludwig."

"Even Ludwig."

"Even Lovino."

"Even _Fratello_."

"Even the kind of cute cashier that works at the porno store."

"Even Yong Soo."

Elizabeta took a deep breath, clutching the phone tight to her ear with both hands, as if letting go would mean her secret was out in the open air. Feliciano was the most dangerous person to tell, but, apart from Gilbert or Roderich, he was her closest friend. And both of them were clearly out as confidants.

"I'm….pregnant."

There was a moment of silence.

"Lizzie that's so great!" Feliciano squealed. "Oh, they'll be so cute and perfect and I wonder if they'll wear glasses and-"

"Feli, calm down." Elizabeta said, trying not to sound strained.

"Oh…wait you do want it, right?"

"I don't know, I don't know!" Elizabeta cried. "I'm so young! And...and…Feli...there's kinda a…really…really slim chance that…maybe Roderich…isn't…"

"It's Gilbert's, isn't it?" Feliciano sounded more excited than anything. "I hope it has white hair! That would make the cutest baby ever-"

"Feli, I'm marrying Roderich!"

"Oh..." Feliciano said slowly. "Right."

"Yeah."

"So…so that's a problem."

"Exactly."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know!" she cried again. "I just don't know! God, I…I guess I have to find out…who the father is."

"They can do that?"

"Yeah, I can get a paternity test."

"Are you…gonna tell Roderich?"

"I'll tell him once I know he's the father." Elizabeta said determinedly.

"What about Gilbert?"

"When I prove he isn't, I'll let him know. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"What if…he is the father?"

Elizabeta swallowed. "He isn't."

"But-"

"He just isn't!"

* * *

"Well, you're definitely pregnant."

Elizabeta looked down at her knees.

"Great."

"You sound excited."

"I was kind of hoping you'd tell me otherwise."

The doctor chuckled, of all things. Elizabeta fought the urge to slap him.

"You said your last period was in November?"

"Yeah.."

"Your blood work will give us a better picture, but from what you said, you should be about…twelve weeks pregnant. Due in August."

Oh, beautiful, just after the wedding. If the wedding was even still on. She would be _pregnant_ at her own _wedding._ Not just pregnant, _really_ fucking _pregnant_.

"I was just wondering…" Elizabeta chewed her tongue for a minute. "I mean, not that…it's…there was this guy…"

"A paternity test would cost you about fifteen hundred dollars."

Elizabeta sighed. She probably had that much to spare after saving all her money from the coffee shop. She'd never really spent much anyway. Dad paid her tuition and Roderich had been more than willing to buy her anything she wanted. "Great…how does…uh…that work?"

"We'll take a sample from the fetus, it's a fast procedure, it won't take long-"

"What does that...entail?"

"A needle is injected into the abdomen-"

"Okay." Elizabeta said quickly, fighting back a wave of nausea. "So…you just take a sample?"

"And compare it to a sample of DNA from the potential father. Or fathers."

"Do I need…both?"

"No. If you bring us a DNA sample we can tell you how the donor is related to the child."

Elizabeta nodded. "Right. Yeah. I can do that."

* * *

Elizabeta leaned over Roderich's sleeping form. He was sprawled, naked, on her bed, one arm over his eyes. She chewed her tongue for a moment, lost in thought. She hadn't told him. So far it seemed Feliciano had held his tongue too, which was some form of miracle. She could. She could tell him it was his, that she had no doubt…

But what if it came out with white hair? With red eyes?

It was a risk she couldn't take. She had to know what to expect. When she told him, she needed to know if she was lying or not.

She plucked a few of his hairs.

* * *

Elizabeta stared at her coffee.

"Did you figure out what to do yet? Do you know whose it is? Are you going to tell-"

"Hush, Feli!" Elizabeta snapped.

"Sorry." Feliciano lowered his voice.

"I had them run the paternity test yesterday." she said quietly, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee. "We'll know the results in a week."

"What are you gonna do if it's Gil's baby?"

Elizabeta shuddered and took another sip. "I don't know, Feli, I really…I don't know."

Feliciano squirmed. "I don't like not telling people things! Ludwig knows I'm not telling him something, I keep looking at him and thinking that he might be an uncle and-"

"Hush!" Elizabeta said angrily, smacking her hand over his mouth from across the table. "No one can know! _Especially _not Ludwig!"

"But I hate hiding things from him!" Feliciano whined behind her hand.

"He'll tell Gilbert!" Elizabeta snapped. "I'm not breathing a word to Gilbert until I know it's not his!"

"What if it is?" Feliciano asked as she pulled her hand away. "Are you going to tell him?"

Elizabeta squirmed in her seat. "I…I don't know, Feli. I just don't know. If I'm married when I have the baby, Roderich is legally assumed to be the father. And the baby is due right after the wedding. And Roderich wants kids anyway…"

"But…you're not going to tell Gilbert even if it's his?"

"Well…what does he need to know for anyway?" Elizabeta demanded. "_He_ came after _me_. I'm engaged! He should know better! He _does_ know better! And he doesn't want kids anyway, he told me himself when we were dating."

"Yeah, but…" Feliciano frowned for a moment. "I…I don't know, Lizzie. I just don't know."

Elizabeta buried her face in her hands. "That makes two of us."

* * *

Matt stared at the sidewalk, face pink.

"Oh, now I've made you feel awkward." Katyusha said worriedly, pausing in their walk. Matt stopped with her, looking up hurriedly.

"N…no! I-"

"I'm sorry, Mattie, you really are sweet. And I haven't dated very…pleasant men. You're the best guy I've dated, I promise."

"It's okay, really." Matt muttered, mostly to stem the waterworks he could see coming. He continued walking, pulling her by their conjoined hands.

"How…many girlfriends have you had before?"

"One."

"What was her name?"

"Lola. My brother set me up with her. We broke up when she told me she felt too guilty to keep cheating on me."

"Really?"

"Well, I was twelve, so…"

Katyusha giggled. "You didn't date in high school?"

Matt shrugged. "If you're looking for the whore of the family, it's Alfred. I just…never really cared enough. I wasn't looking for a relationship and…I never found anyone worth asking out."

"Except me."

Matt grinned and kissed her, swinging their hands gently. "You were worth breaking the streak for."

"Aw." Katyusha sighed.

They walked in silence for a while, watching a few of the park wildlife that refused to migrate or hibernate. It was as if they'd forgotten how to be wild animals in the face of half-eaten french-fries and undefended sandwiches.

"Do…do you mind that…that we don't…you know…" Matt stammered suddenly. "I…I mean, I know…A lot of guys…But…"

"Actually, it's a relief." Katyusha sighed. "I like taking it slow, for once. There's no rush, you know?"

Matt smiled weakly. He tried to focus on stopping the nervous sweat coating his palms.

"Do…do you…only...Do you think we're a serious couple?"

"Like, do I think that someday I want to get married and have two to eight kids with you?" Katyusha asked brightly. "I hope so. I'm bored of flings."

"…E…eight?"

"Families are bigger in Russia." Katyusha said happily. "I've always wanted a lot of kids…Do you want kids?"

"Y..yeah, someday…" Matt said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Someday." Katyusha said happily. "In a few years."

"You…you don't mind…waiting to start a family?"

"I've waited this long, haven't I? I suppose there is a limit…"

Matt stared at the sidewalk.

"Do you think it's weird that we're so…far apart? Age-wise?"

"It's only ten years. Will it matter when I'm fifty and you're forty?"

Matt chuckled weakly. "I guess not."

"You're not thinking of breaking up with me, are you?"

"N…no!" Matt said hurriedly. "I just…guess with all the talk of weddings in the air, it's got me nervous."

Katyusha giggled. "Don't sweat it, Mattie. I'm not in a rush. We can take it slow."

Matt nodded.

* * *

They were in a plain white envelope. Elizabeta chewed her lip and flipped it over, staring at the innocent flap.

She couldn't do this. What if…what if…

She was tired of what if. She tore open the envelope. Screw what if. Time to see what _is_…

The results were complicated and she saw a lot of numbers and a chart that meant nothing to her. She scanned down the page. They had to have it in plain English here _somewhere_…

She flipped the page over. There was another paper, masquerading as a letter. She chewed her lip as she read it, heart beating in her throat. Her eyes slid down the page, trying to decipher it. What were the _results_, damn it? Where _were_ they?

She found them cramped at the bottom of the second page. The results…

Were inconclusive. Elizabeta cursed violently and threw the paper, which only really succeeded in wasting fifteen hundred dollars. Now what? She could run the test again, and be out three thousand dollars, and risk another inconclusive test…Or…

She stared at the paper. The doctor _had_ said she could get anyone's DNA for it. Even someone…who just _might_ be related to the baby _somehow_… And if she was going to pay for the whole damn test again, she might as well make sure she gave it the best chance possible…

She chewed her lip for a moment, lost in thought, papers already forgotten. An inconclusive test meant nothing. She could ask her dad for money. He wouldn't ask many questions. She could just say she needed it for books or something. She finally made up her mind and pulled her phone from her pocket, dialing the number almost without thinking.

The phone rang all of once before an eager voice answered.

"Feli?" she said, crumpling the useless test results and tossing them in the garbage. "I have a favor to ask."

"What is it?" Feliciano asked eagerly.

"I need Ludwig's hair."

* * *

Feliciano chewed his lip nervously, glancing back at the door.

This was so bad…He shouldn't be doing this! Ludwig would catch him and then what? How could he tell him? Elizabeta had forbidden him from telling a soul, and he'd promised, as hard as it had been, because Elizabeta was a good friend and would do the same for him.

Well, not exactly the same, obviously. But if Feli got a girl pregnant maybe. Or…something. Now he was confused.

He pulled the drawer open and pawed through the combs and brushed stashed away. There had to be something with just a bit of Ludwig's hair on it…Just…a few strands! Oh, what would he do if he couldn't find anything? Ludwig was so neat…Maybe he'd already cleaned his brushes!

He quietly pushed the drawer closed again and tried another. Toothbrushes…could he give Elizabeta a toothbrush? That had DNA on it, right? But he didn't know which was Ludwig's or Gilbert's….Or would Gilbert's be better? Oh, now he just didn't know! Maybe you couldn't get DNA from a toothbrush. And Ludwig would notice one missing.

He was starting to lose hope when he pulled open the last drawer. He blushed deep red and immediately closed the drawer again. Probably nothing there. He decided to assume it was Gilbert's drawer, because he just couldn't imagine Ludwig having any need for those things.

There was no hair here…No nothing…

Feliciano had a sudden spark of inspiration and pulled the shower curtain back, looking around for a strand of blond hair, just one…

In his eagerness, he'd knocked a bottle of shampoo off the edge of the tub. It clattered to the floor with a sound as loud as a gunshot, and Feliciano squeaked. He froze for a few minutes, listening to the apartment around him. Maybe Ludwig couldn't hear him over the TV? He reached down to replace the bottle, setting it carefully where he thought it might have been, turning it for a moment, trying to make it look exactly as it had before. Had the label been out or towards the shower…?

The shower. Right. He leaned over the tub, looking down at the drain. There was hair there! But…ew. And he didn't even know if it was Ludwig's or not. He leaned closer, trying to get a better look, and his hand slipped, sending him headfirst into the bathtub.

* * *

"Hi."

Gilbert jumped and turned away from the coals still smoldering in his fireplace. "Natasha! How'd you even…how are you doing that?"

"Doing what?" Natasha asked, chin on the balcony railing. She was hanging off of it, watching him.

"You…the balcony…how did you get _up_ here?"

"Why don't you come here and I'll show you?"

Gilbert grinned and crossed the room, bending down to kiss her. She reached out and Gilbert grabbed her arms to pull her onto solid ground.

"So, how did you climb the side of Granddad's house?"

"I have my ways." she said mysteriously. "What are you doing in here? It's so nice outside."

They both looked back towards the sky, which was overcast and threateningly gray.

"Well, nice for February. It isn't raining, at least."

"I'll give you that." Gilbert fell back on the sofa dramatically. "Granddad locked me inside. He's…I don't even know. I'm bored."

"He locked you inside? Literally?" Natasha crossed the room and examined the door.

"Yeah." Gilbert said distractedly. "I tried to like, pick it open, but I don't think I did it right, it-"

He heard the door click open.

"How did you do that?" he demanded, sitting up again.

Natasha held the door open, a tantalizing escape route.

"Well? Are you going to stare at it or do you want to show me around?"

"What?"

"Your Granddad doesn't want you to leave the house, right? So show me the house."

Gilbert grinned and jerked to his feet again. He walked around the couch and offered Natasha his elbow.

"Would you like a tour, milady?"

"Why, that sounds wonderful, Mr. Beilschmidt."

* * *

"And this is another hallway."

"Do you even know where we are?"

"Not even kind of."

Natasha laughed and let her head fall on his shoulder, their arms still linked at the elbow. "So. A hallway."

"I think we might be in the east side of the house."

"I believe it's the south."

"How do you know?"

"Because you can see the front gate through those windows there."

"The front gate faces south?"

"It does."

"Huh." Gilbert shrugged and continued walking aimlessly through the halls. "You know, I am totally lost."

"I kind of figured."

"Well…We could always climb out the window and head for the front gate if something happened."

"Like what?"

Gilbert opened his mouth to answer and, in the split second of quiet, heard footsteps.

"Like that." he said hurriedly. "Get in here! Hurry!"

Natasha darted into the first open door he found. He made to follow her.

"Gilbert!"

"Fuuck…" He shut the door quickly, hoping it wouldn't seem suspicious or something.

"How did you get out of your room?" Vargas demanded, grabbing his shoulder.

"I picked the lock."

"Right." Vargas twisted him around and marched him away from the door. "I told you before, your grandfather wants you to stay in your room."

"You know, Granddad has an awful lot of rules." Gilbert said, trying to hinder Vargas in any way possible. Which wasn't hard, he truly couldn't walk at the pace Vargas was setting. "What's with the stick up his ass, anyway?"

"Your grandfather's rules are in place to keep you safe." Vargas assured him. "So please follow them."

"Safe from what?" Gilbert asked eagerly. "Is he another one of those crime lords? Is he-"

"He's nothing of the sort." They reached his room surprisingly fast. "Stay."

"I have a girlfriend, you know!" Gilbert shouted as he was shoved inside. "Can't I see her?"

"Of course you do." Mr. Vargas said, examining the doorknob.

"I do!"

"What's her name?"

"Natasha."

Mr. Vargas straightened. "Well, I don't know how you did it…but you won't do it again. Natasha who?"

"I…" Gilbert faltered. "Well, I don't know her last name."

Mr. Vargas looked at him. "Right. What's she look like?"

"She's pretty and she's got platinum blond hair and she's kind of short and-"

"Natasha, you said?" Mr. Vargas interrupted.

"Yeah…"

"Don't see her anymore."

Gilbert crossed his arms across his chest. "I thought you didn't believe she existed."

"I'm serious, Gilbert. Don't see her anymore. Don't even talk to her. If she comes back, you call for one of the help."

"Why?" Gilbert demanded.

"For once in your evidently very unlucky life, listen to reason." Mr. Vargas snapped. "Do not see that girl anymore. She's no good."

"Why?"

"Stay." Mr. Vargas warned, shutting the door behind him. Gilbert heard it lock.

Gilbert scoffed and pressed his ear to the door, waiting for Mr. Vargas to leave. He heard his footsteps fade away and a moment later there was a soft scratching at the doorknob. He stepped away as the door swung open.

"Short?"

"Well, shorter than me."

Natasha laughed and shut the door behind them. "Who was that?"

"Just one of the help, Mr. Vargas, I dunno."

"Vargas?"

"Yeah, he's like, one of my dad's servants and oh my god did I just say 'the help'?" Gilbert shook his head out. "I'm turning into one of them…"

"So…" Natasha put her hands on his waist, smiling at him. "Girlfriend?"

"Well, I figured we fuck on a regular basis and you're here all the time…so…why not?"

"I could do that." Natasha said. "And that makes you my boyfriend."

"That is how it works here in Europe, right?"

Natasha giggled and kissed him. "So what rules?"

"What?"

"You were talking about rules on the way down here, I was just wondering what your granddad is doing to you up here."

"You little sneak, were you following us?"

"The whole way."

Gilbert laughed. "Just stupid stuff, I can't leave my room when he has company over, I can't go downstairs when there's a meeting, I have to speak German to him, I can't leave the house without him knowing, and even then sometimes I still can't…"

"Sounds like he's got a massive stick up his ass."

"Well, that's exactly what I said."

"So…why listen?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Natasha sighed. "Well, now, what do American teenagers do when their parents and or stiff grandparents make unfair rules?"

"First, I'm not a teenager. I am an adult."

"As am I."

"I'm twenty-one."

"I'm nineteen."

"I can drink."

"As can I."

"Legally."

"As can I."

"And I have adult friends."

"As do I."

"We do adult things."

"As do I."

"I pay taxes."

"As do I." Natasha sighed, smiling at him. "So what do adults do when their overlords make such unfair rules?"

"They rebel."

"Well, now…" Natasha pulled away and turned to lean out the still-open balcony door. "Why should it be any different here?"

"What am I supposed to do about it?"

Natasha looked back at him, grinning. "You know the coffee shop we met in?"

"Technically we met on an airplane. But yes."

"Meet me there. Tonight."

"But-"

Natasha sighed. "I suppose I understand if you don't want to disobey your grandfather…"

"No! No, I…alright, fine, I'll sneak out."

Natasha kissed him and swung her leg over the balcony. "Midnight. I'll meet you there."

"I'll be there."

And with that, Natasha swung out of sight.


	27. A Nightmare is a Fear Your Mind Has

Ludwig pulled him from the bathtub by the collar of his shirt. Feliciano squealed as he was lifted to his feet, eyes wide.

"What were you doing?" Ludwig sighed. "Trying to kill yourself?"

"N…no." Feliciano squeaked nervously.

Ludwig didn't seem to find it that strange Feliciano had almost knocked himself out falling into his bathtub. To be honest, neither did Feliciano. Ludwig brushed him off worriedly, wiping away some of the dampness clinging to his arms.

"Are you alright?" he sighed.

"Y…yes." Feliciano mumbled, watching the gentle way Ludwig cleaned him off. He couldn't lie to him…

No, he'd promised Elizabeta. He'd told her he wouldn't say a word to Ludwig.

"As long as you're alright." Ludwig sighed. "Did you hit your head?"

"No." Feliciano mumbled to the floor.

"Feli?"

Feliciano scuffed his feet on the spotless floor.

"What were you doing, anyway?"

Feliciano chewed his lip. "I can't tell you."

Ludwig paused. "Why…not?"

"Because." Feliciano said quickly, and then worried Ludwig would think he was rude. "Because…I promised."

"Promised who?"

"Elizabeta." the name was out before he could stop himself. He risked a glance up, worrying his lip. Ludwig was so smart…what if he figured it out? Did that count as telling him? Elizabeta would be so mad at him!

"What did…Elizabeta tell you?" Ludwig asked slowly.

Feliciano whined. "I want to tell you! It's so good! Well…it's mostly good. It might be bad. But I still kind of think it's good, because I'd rather it be Gilbert's, but-"

"Gilbert's what?"

Feliciano clamped his hand over his mouth hurriedly, eyes wide.

Ludwig was frowning. Feliciano could practically hear the gears spinning, it was only a matter of time until he figured it out, and then what? Elizabeta would be so mad!

But…Ludwig would be so mad if he found out Feliciano hadn't told him. Oh, what should he do, what should he do?

But…Elizabeta never said not to give Ludwig a _hint_…

"Elizabeta…told me not to tell you…" Feliciano said slowly, trying to think. "Because you would tell Gilbert, and she doesn't want him to know yet."

"Yet?"

"Until she knows if it…matters or not. And she…wanted something…from you, to find out."

Nothing. Feliciano watched him anxiously, hoping he would catch on. Ludwig was so smart, but maybe Feliciano was bad at this, what else could he say…?

Ludwig's eyes widened suddenly. Feliciano perked up and smiled hopefully.

"Elizabeta's pregnant."

Feliciano didn't respond, but it wasn't necessary. Ludwig seemed capable of deciding the truth for himself. He watched Ludwig worriedly, wondering if he'd broken his promise, if Ludwig was angry with him for not telling him directly.

Ludwig ran a hand through his neat blond hair, tearing it out of its orderly style and throwing it every which way. His blue eyes were unfocused and distracted, lost in thought. Feliciano bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting anxiously.

"Ludwig…?"

"Elizabeta is…pregnant."

Feliciano opened his mouth to answer, thought better of it, and nodded furiously.

"And she's concerned…that Roderich…might not be the father."

Feliciano nodded again.

"Which leaves…Gilbert."

Nod.

"And she sent you to get my hair for a paternity test."

"Yes!" Feliciano cried finally. "But she told me not to tell you, and you can't tell Gilbert! Oh, please, Ludwig, don't tell Gilbert!"

Ludwig looked startled. "What? I have to!"

"No, no, Ludwig I promised!" Feliciano whined. "I wasn't supposed to tell you, no one is supposed to know, Elizabeta trusted me…"

"I can't…I might be an uncle!" Ludwig exploded. "I'm not going to hide this from him!"

Feliciano hadn't thought about that. Ludwig could be an uncle…The uncle of Elizabeta's baby… He chewed his fingers nervously, a habit Lovino was always telling him to stop.

"I don't know…I don't know!" Feliciano cried finally. "What if…what if you wait until the test comes back? Lizzie already got a paternity test for Roderich but it came back inconclusive. She wants your hair this time to make sure she gets a result."

Ludwig sighed, pacing the tight bathroom. Feliciano pressed himself into the corner against the toilet to prevent being run over.

"I can't believe this…I can't believe this…Are you sure?"

Feliciano nodded again. Ludwig sighed and stopped finally, staring at his own reflection.

"It's not necessarily his." he said firmly. "It's…probably not. They can't have slept together that much that recently. And...we don't know who's it is."

He turned to Feliciano suddenly and Feliciano watched him, chewing his lip. He pulled a few hairs free and held them out.

"This is what you need, right? Tell Elizabeta I'll give this to her as long as she tells me the results of the tests."

Feliciano reached out and hesitated. "I…don't know if she'll agree…"

"Tell her either she agrees or I tell Gilbert."

Feliciano nodded and took the hairs.

* * *

The hall was deathly quiet. Gilbert pressed against the wall, praying that the carpeting continued all through the house to muffle the sound of his unsteady feet.

There were one or two servants still wandering around, but most of them were small and mousey, moving through the house quickly, as if afraid of getting caught dawdling. They were easy to hide from, usually Gilbert just needed to shrink back into the shadows and they wouldn't even notice him. He wondered if they'd even catch on if he just stood there. Unless they accidentally mowed him over, he doubted it. They all looked rather focused.

He made it to the ground floor without much trouble. The front door and gate were guarded, he knew that, but there was also another entrance…He'd heard Granddad mention it, it had to be here somewhere…in the…kitchen? Where the hell was the kitchen, again? For that matter, what _floor_ was the kitchen on? Well, any doors were probably on the ground floor, so that seemed like a good place to start.

He held his breath and pressed against the wall as another servant passed him, carrying a tray of half-eaten dinner, probably Granddad's. Gilbert hesitated a minute and followed, keeping to the shadows. Finally, he vanished through a door far into the east side of the house, someplace Gilbert hadn't gone much. He listened anxiously, trying to decide if it was better to go in now when he might be distracted or wait until he came out.

After several minutes of nerve-wracking silence, Gilbert swallowed his anxiety and pushed open the door. It glided open silently on greased hinges, revealing a large and very empty kitchen. It looked more like the back of a restaurant than an old house, but he supposed Granddad never did actually come in here anyway. He hurriedly crossed the room, avoiding the puddles and greasy-looking stains, all the time glancing over his shoulder, waiting for the mousey servant to suddenly appear.

There it was, hidden behind an extensive spice rack and a large cooler that looked like it might contain a human head. Gilbert fought the desire to look inside and, quietly as possible, pushed open the door.

Fresh air dried the sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. He grinned, victorious, and wiped the rest away with the back of his hand. Now…to get past the guarded, spiked fence and find the road. Gilbert paused.

The front gate was guarded at all times, he knew because he had to get past it to ever leave, and they knew not to let him past unless Granddad had given him permission. The servant's door, which was just behind him now, lead to its own gate, here at the back, so the view of service trucks and lowly servant cars didn't blemish the landscape, he supposed, and was also guarded, if less strictly. Gilbert didn't know who ran the servant gate, never having used it, but he doubted he could sneak past them. Granddad might be stuck in the stone ages, where castles like this monstrosity were necessary, but he was pretty good about old-fashioned security. Which, Gilbert knew from experience, meant dogs. He really didn't want another run-in with the guard dogs. They didn't like him much.

He chewed the inside of his cheek and looked at the fence, just a few yards away. There was no way he could climb that. There was just no way. He turned to look at the servant's gate. Maybe…maybe he could pull up his hood and…pass as a servant? His limp might give him away…could he walk without it for a little ways? But they'd see him coming, and he couldn't walk _that_ far without some kind of stagger…and they'd probably want him to pull back his hood…then again, who cared who was _leaving_-

A sudden scrabbling to his right made him jump. He looked around, expecting to see Granddad or Vargas or at the very least one of the stupid guard dogs, but, no. Just a raccoon. Gilbert grinned. Raccoons were helpful little devils. Scary as fuck, and vicious as any angry dog, but helpful. They always knew how to find the food that wasn't completely rotten through yet. And they scared away competition most of the time. If you just left them alone and made sure you let them eat…raccoons were good friends. He'd even sacrificed a meal or two to keep one on his side.

"You scared the fuck out of me…" he muttered. The raccoon ignored him, more interested in the browned apple core it had found. Quite a prize, Gilbert knew. "And…I'm identifying with a raccoon. I need to get out more." he sighed. "Well I'm trying! How the fuck am I supposed to get the hell out of here with all the entrances boarded up like we're in the middle of Auschwitz…"

The raccoon glanced at him, decided he wasn't a threat to it or its apple prize, and dove down through a break in the fence. Gilbert shook his head, chuckling.

"You know, Granddad would hate you, finding that tiny little break in the fence. He likes to think he doesn't need _real_ security, but-"

Hold on. Gilbert glanced at the wall behind him, decided that there were no windows posing an immediate threat to him, and hurried to the fence, dropping down to his knees to examine the break in the fence.

"What the…" One of the fence pieces was loose. He grabbed it and wiggled it experimentally. It moved freely, more or less. He pushed it up out of the way, giving himself a little more than a foot to squirm though.

"Yeah, sure, thank god I'm such a skinny little fuck, right?" he mumbled to himself, annoyed that he could fit. _Ludwig_ wouldn't be able to fit. Or Alfred.

Whatever. They'd be stuck here and he had a hot Russian girlfriend to go meet. Gilbert pulled himself through and grinned, straightening up. Yup. Being a skinny little fuck wasn't all bad. Now to find the road…

* * *

Weird, how empty it was at night on this side of town. Gilbert limped down the street at last, late, but, at least, not ridiculously so. He glanced at his watch again. Eight minutes. Whatever, Natasha probably didn't care.

If she was even here. Gilbert reached the coffee shop, looking in through the dark windows. It was closed. He wondered if that was the plan or not. He shrugged and stared critically at his reflection, rubbing self-consciously at his scar. It was almost completely healed, if a giant brown stain could be considered healed. He looked like some sort of Frankenstein reject.

Someone grabbed his arm and almost pulled him off-balance.

"Natasha, there you are-"

"Shhh!" Natasha clamped her hand over his mouth. "Be _quiet_!"

Her hair was tangled and there was a bruise on her cheekbone. Gilbert pulled her hand away from his mouth.

"What happened to you?"

"I said shut up!" she hissed, pulling him down the street. He followed somewhat reluctantly. "Just come this way! Hurry up, hurry up!"

"Where are we going?"

"Just _move_!" she insisted, trying to get him to speed up. He stumbled and caught himself on the wall.

"Hang on, I can't go that fast-"

"Try!" She dragged him down an empty alleyway. "Come on, come on-"

Something exploded to their right. Gilbert shouted in surprise and Natasha used his lack in concentration to shove him several yards farther down the alley.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…" Natasha muttered. She grabbed his hand and ran, forcing him to either be half-dragged through the city or fall into something. He managed to do mostly the former.

A gun fired behind them and he swore he felt it pass his ear by an inch. He tried to turn and look, but Natasha jerked on his hand and pulled him down a side-street he hadn't even noticed.

"Who's shooting at us?" he asked, trying to catch his breath.

Natasha didn't answer. It was all he could do to keep up with her. It occurred to him that maybe trusting her wasn't the best idea.

He pulled on her hold and came to stop.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

She turned and pulled on his hand again, but he'd dug his heels into the ground.

"Gilbert, please, I'll explain later, they're going to catch up-"

"Who?" Gilbert insisted.

"They're going to kill you, please, just move!" Natasha pleaded, throwing her weight against his arm, which wasn't much. She must have weighted all of ninety pounds. "Gilbert!"

"No! I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on!"

"Gilbert-!"

There was a shot directly behind him and pain exploded in his arm. He stumbled forward, momentarily blinded, and Natasha pulled on his good arm. This time he went without complaint, trying to clear his head and ignore the burning pain just above his elbow.

He only made it a few feet before he collapsed, head spinning. Natasha's hand was suddenly gone. He shook out his head, trying to see straight, trying to think. Blurry images swam before him, solidifying at last into the barrel of a gun so close he had to cross his eyes to see it.

A crack and the smell of burnt gunpowder filled the air.

Gilbert blinked, confused. The gun in his face fell away, unfired, his would-be murderer falling to the ground, suffering from an extreme case of being shot in the head.

Someone dragged him roughly to his feet. He protested and stumbled, almost falling into them. His arm throbbed angrily, and his head was starting to join in.

The arm supporting him turned him around.

"Granddad?"

Granddad was livid.

"_What the hell is wrong with you?_" he demanded, shaking his eldest grandson. Gilbert made a face and struggled to translate the heavily-accented German.

"Can't we talk in English-"

"_No! You ridiculous, idiotic, pathetic excuse for a-_" Gilbert lost track of what he was saying, although even Alfred could have figured out it wasn't a compliment.

"_Get in the car._" Granddad said finally, out of breath. Gilbert glanced at the thick sided van idling in the street and back at Granddad.

"Wait, but-"

"_GO!"_

"_Yes sir_." Gilbert muttered, squirming free of his hold and darting through the waiting doors. Inside, he slammed the door behind him and slumped against the seat, noting, somewhat idly, that he was bleeding all over the leather seat. Did blood come out of leather?

Whatever.

It was a moment before he realized he wasn't alone. His vision was starting to go blurry again, but he could smell the sharp odor of familiar European cologne.

"Hey, Vargas." Gilbert said, giving an attempt at a grin.

Vargas shifted in the roomy car and pulled his arm out. Gilbert bit back a pained noise and watched disinterestedly.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asked after a minute.

"Looking for you."

"How'd you know I was missing?"

Mr. Vargas didn't answer. He pulled back the sleeve of Gilbert's jacket and he hissed and pulled away.

"Only you could manage this." Mr. Vargas grabbed his arm again, this time somewhat forcefully, and pulled his jacket off for him. Gilbert protested wordlessly and squirmed. "Stop moving! Idiot. He's going to lock you underground somewhere right after he sends me to Siberia…"

"I hear they have good vodka there."

Mr. Vargas pulled sharply at his shirt and Gilbert fell silent again.

"I told you, your grandfather's rules are for your own good."

"So who was that?"

"Criminals."

"Okay, I picked up on that. Did Granddad kill that guy?"

"Probably."

"That's awesome."

"Will you be serious?" Mr. Vargas demanded furiously. Gilbert cried out as he twisted his arm more than necessary. "You would be dead right now if your grandfather hadn't found you in time. There is a man bleeding onto the street right now because of you. Are you proud of yourself?"

Gilbert pulled his arm away, sobered. "He's… dead because of me?"

"Had you not run off like the disobedient American teenager you seem to be, your grandfather would have had no reason to be here."

"But…"

"You've probably broken your arm again. You'll be lucky if you can still use it."

Gilbert bent his elbow experimentally and gasped as pain went sparking up his arm and into his spine. He tried flexing his fingers, with similar results.

"Fuck…"

* * *

Where was the god-damn phone? Ludwig attempted to reach for it blindly for a few minutes before giving in and lifting his head from the pillows. Almost four in the morning. Great. Someone had better be dying.

He found his phone on the floor, of all places, and pulled it open.

"Hello?" he asked blearily.

"Do you remember what my blood type was?"

Ludwig paused. On a scale of disconcerting, this was somewhere between 'I'm in drunk because I'm trouble' and 'Your brother is in the hospital'.

"…May I ask…why?"

"Yeah, no worries, just…what was it?"

"You're type AB positive, Gilbert."

"Right! Right. Universal receiver. I love my blood type. I can't believe I forgot that…"

Ludwig sat up. "Why…did you need your blood type?"

"Ah…because they're out of O negative. Which is total bull. This is why German hospitals suck. YES, I KNOW YOU CAN UNDERSTAND ENGLISH. THAT'S WHY I SAID IT. I hate this place."

"Why are you in a hospital?" Ludwig asked. "Again?"

"Because I crashed a motorcycle into a tree."

"Gilbert."

"Seriously. I'm starting to think trees are magnetic-"

"Please be serious."

"There was a thing, alright?" Gilbert said. "A thing with a place. And…this _really_ hot Russian girl, but, ah…She may or may not have been trying to save my life. How she knew, though…"

"Save your life from _what?_"

"A thing."

"_What_ thing?" Ludwig demanded, exasperated.

"This…thing. With a guy. He's dead now, so, like, problem solved."

"Gilbert, why do you need blood?"

"Be..cause…it turns out the awesome was pushing all the blood out of my veins-"

"Gilbert!"

"Okay, okay! Pushy!" Gilbert sighed. "I got…shot..ish."

"Shot-ish?"

"It's like being shot but it doesn't hurt as much and there's less bullet in you."

"I'm sure it's an official medical term."

"That's my translation from German."

"So what part of you got shot-ish?"

"My arm…ish."

"Where on your arm?"

"The…arm…region….just above my elbow."

Ludwig groaned. "Are you at least alright?"

"Well I'm alive. There's that."

"I assumed that much."

"You never know with me." Gilbert said. "I..uh…well I don't have more brain damage now. That's always a plus."

"Why don't we talk about your arm?"

"Yup. Still an arm."

"Would you please be serious?" Ludwig said, trying to keep a hold on his temper.

"Sorry, man, they've got me on morphine. I…uh…right. So nothing's broken. Bonus. And it's the same arm, so nothing big, right? It's really just a flesh wound, it'll be fine in a few weeks."

"How many weeks?"

"About three or four. They said it'll heal fine."

"Do you still have motor control of that hand?"

"What?"

"Can you use your fingers?"

"Oh. Yeah, kinda. They said that should heal too, so no worries, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose…are you sure you're alright?"

"Fff…me? I'm totally fine. I mean…it…hurt…but I'm fine now. Everyone gets shot once in a while, right?"

"Seems like it."

"Right. And I'm just luckier than most and get thrown into a tree. I-WAIT! DON'T TOUCH THERE! THAT PART HURTS! Ah, fuck, I gotta go, Ludwig. I'll call you when I'm, like, not on drugs."

"Make sure you do."

"FU-" The line cut off before Gilbert could finish his curse. Ludwig sighed and closed his phone. Why? Why did Gilbert go to Europe and get himself shot? He couldn't go, what, two weeks without injuring himself?

Ludwig groaned and collapsed back in bed.

Gilbert better really hope that kid wasn't his. At this rate, he'd be dead by the time he was thirty.

* * *

Alfred rubbed his eyes tiredly and tried to look like he wasn't completely lost as Professor Doucheface McFailure or whatever his name was tried to review imaginary numbers. Question: if they were imaginary, why learn about them?

"Alright, fine, I can tell you're focusing so hard it's just wearing you out." Professor Douche-Etcetera-Etcetera said sharply. "Ten minute break. Go get your minds working again."

Alfred immediately dropped his head onto the desk and groaned. He was going to fail this class. He was going to fail so bad.

He picked his head up and, after a short staring contest with his blank notes, tore them apart and wadded them up. He hit his target square in the ear.

"What, Alfred?" Ludwig asked, sounding exasperated.

"Can I copy your notes?"

"Yeah, fine." Ludwig let him slide them out from under his hand. "There's not much there."

"Are you kidding? We've been in class for about an hour and there's like, three pages here!"

"Most of it is nonsense, though-"

"Makes sense to me."

Ludwig sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I can't remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep…a week ago, probably."

"You too?" Alfred asked. "Welcome to the club, man! Okay, to be fair, you probably founded it, but welcome back! What's been keeping you up?"

"Gilbert keeps forgetting the time difference. He gets bored."

"Just sitting at your granddad's place?"

"I wish. He got back to Granddad's two days ago."

"Where was he?"

"The hospital. Because he just can't stay away." Ludwig sighed.

"What'd he do now?"

"He got himself shot in the arm."

"Damn, how?"

"God knows. He won't say a word. I'm not sure how much he knows, really, but he's making it sound very mysterious and it's getting on my nerves."

Alfred laughed. "Well tell him to call me, I'm not sleeping anyway."

"What's wrong with you?"

"Ah, nothing. Just stress, I suppose. I'm failing most of my classes. But what else is new."

"Are you passing German, at least?"

"By about a hair. Thanks for that, by the way. I totally got a C on that last test about modular verbs."

Ludwig shrugged. "I'd say that's nothing to be proud of, but I'm rather satisfied with having a C in American History right now."

"All we have to do is pass."

"You make that sound so easy."

Their conversation was abruptly cut off as Professor What's-His-Ass-Face resumed the lesson.

* * *

"_You know what I still can't figure out?_" Granddad asked suddenly, still speaking in German. Because, you know, getting shot in the arm? Not enough punishment.

"Why you wear Italian shoes? Yeah, I don't get that one either." Gilbert yawned in English. Mr. Vargas hid his chuckle in the background. Granddad either failed to see him or chose to ignore him.

"_How did you even leave the grounds?_" Granddad asked, almost idly, as if Gilbert weren't even in the room to answer. "_The gates are guarded._"

"Uh…" Either he lied and said he'd gotten through the gates, which meant some poor gate guard lost his job and Granddad probably hired even harsher security, or he told him the truth and his one escape route was blocked off for good. "The…uh…I have my ways."

"_Why don't you elaborate?_"

"I apparated."

"_You what?_"

"Look, why don't I share my half of the story if you share yours." Gilbert said. "You know. The part where I get chased by people who probably want to kill me because of you and then you kill one of them. With a gun. Remember that part? I remember that part. My arm remembers that part."

"_I have no reason to share anything with you."_

"Right, besides the part where I got shot. There's that. But understandably forgettable. I mean, I keep forgetting why I'm in the hospital. I've been here so fucking much I'm starting to think I live here. Which can't be, because I've never had a room this nice to myself. Remember the part where I lived on the streets because you had a petty argument with my dad? I remember that part. I remember it really well.

Granddad sighed and stood. "_I can see you're not going to talk to me._"

"No, I'm talking. I'm just not spilling anything. It's annoying, isn't it? How no one will tell you a goddamn thing."

"_Vargas, please stay here and make sure he doesn't hurt himself again._"

"Yes, sir."

"I didn't hurt myself!" Gilbert called after him. "I got shot! There's a difference!"

Granddad ignored him and left without another word. Gilbert fumed to himself for a few minutes.

"Why is he an ass?" he demanded finally, only half-expecting an answer.

"He's worried for you."

"Bullshit. He thinks I'm going to stab my eye out with the IV." he exploded, shaking the tube plugged into his uninjured hand. "I wouldn't have been _out_ if I wasn't so fucking fed up with being cooped up like a disobedient pet! I'm a person, damn it, and he's an ass!"

"In his defense, the moment you had a glimpse of freedom, you injured yourself."

"Again. Got shot. Very different than 'injured myself'. 'Injured myself' means I fell on the sidewalk and scraped my knee. 'Injured myself' means I crashed a motorcycle into a fucking tree, alright? I admit that. I'm really good at injuring myself, I'm not going to lie. I once held a gun. It took me five seconds to shoot myself in the foot. I'm _really_ good at it. But this was not 'injuring myself', ARE WE CLEAR?"

"You make a fair point." Vargas said, sounding uninterested. "But the point remains that you got out and now you are injured, does that wording offend your frail senses?"

"Shut up. It's not my fault. Fucking…everyone else."

"Of course it's not your fault. Very American of you."

"Hey!" Gilbert protested. "I…Americans don't have anything…to apologize for. If…my brother were here he could explain why. Or Alfred. Alfred would be _really_ good at that, I'm sure, but…I…got a D in history. And I'm not ashamed."

Gilbert was fully aware that he'd stopped making sense, but he didn't have any reason to defend himself anyway, damn it.

Vargas sighed. "Clearly, your Granddad knew something of this sort would happen the moment you left his protection."

"It's a cage, not 'protection'."

"He was right, though."

"He was not!" Gilbert said stubbornly. "You know who's right? I fucking am. I might have brain damage BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN I'M NOT RIGHT."

"Alright, you've stopped arguing and made this a personal attack now." Vargas said, leaning back against the wall.

"I have not!"

Vargas didn't respond. Gilbert cursed colorfully and sagged back against the bed, glaring at the ceiling. Shit…sucked. Shit just sucked.

He turned to stare at the phone. Ludwig had told him to stop calling in the middle of the night, and he was bad at remembering the time zone differences. Were they eight hours ahead or behind? And he really shouldn't bug Ludwig so much, he was probably…still working two jobs…and going to class….because he was an overachiever….Where the hell did he learn that crap from, anyway? Because it wasn't from Gilbert.

Gilbert grumbled and picked up the phone, punching in the worn keys, hardly paying attention. The phone rang all of twice before a voice answered.

"'lo?"

"Sup, Freddo."

"Gilbert! Man, didn't recognize the number, are you in a hospital again?"

"I'm starting to think I should just pay rent."

"Did you really get shot in the arm?"

"You've been talking to Ludwig."

"Hard not to. I copy his math notes like twice a week. He writes down _everything_. And it's _neat_."

"I know."

"I don't even understand how you're related."

"I think I might have been adopted."

"No one wanted you when you were twelve, no one wanted you when you were a baby either."

Gilbert laughed. "Harsh."

"Because I love you."

"Shut up."

"I LOOOOOVE YOU GILBERT-"

"SHUT IT, DICKHEAD!"

"Off the morphine, then?"

"I really miss it. I'm considering shooting myself again to get back on it."

"That stuff is supposed to be addictive, be careful."

"I've got so much shit going on, do you think anyone would even _notice_ if I developed a drug problem?"

"…Oh my god, you're right. You have to use this."

"You're right. I'm sure I saw someone dealing on the corner."

"I wonder what it's like to smoke pot…"

"You've never done it?"

"Have you?"

"Well, I was in the proximity of many people doing it. Also I smoked it once or twice. So yes."

"What's it like?"

"For me it was like being absolutely convinced someone was watching me at all times. That's…really hard to deal with when it's dark and you can't go inside. Didn't do it much."

Alfred laughed. "So you didn't enjoy it at all?"

"Oh, I enjoyed it, just not enough to choose paying for it over food."

"…now the conversation is awkward again."

"You know what's expensive? Crack."

"I think Feli might do crack. Just on the weekends. Mixes it with his coffee."

Gilbert snorted. "If that kid did crack he'd explode. Can you imagine that? Oh my god, he's annoying now…"

"I still can't figure out how Ludwig deals with him."

"He's in love, poor soul."

"Ludwig isn't gay."

"Come on, man, he's gay. He can deny it all he wants, he's at the very least bi. If just for that idiot."

"If either of us has a gaydar, it is me. And he doesn't even show up on it."

Gilbert chuckled. "Whatever. So what time is it there?"

"Uh…like three in the morning."

"Is it really?"

"You really haven't figured out this time zone thing, have you?"

"Well it's hard! So you're…eight hours behind us."

"Probably." Alfred said. "Don't worry about it. I was up anyway."

"What? Why?"

"I dunno, just stress."

"Stress about school or stress about a certain would-be murderer?"

"Just school, okay? I'm failing like, everything. Damn it, I've got a German test next week, too…"

"Isn't Ludwig helping you with that?"

"Yeah. But that doesn't mean I suck any less at it."

"True." Gilbert thought for a moment. "What kind of stuff do they test you on, anyway?"

"I dunno, vocab and stuff. Haven't you ever taken a foreign language?"

"Yeah, I took Spanish in high school. Didn't seem that hard."

"I got a D in Spanish…and it was a really lucky D. There was a lot of extra credit in that D."

Gilbert laughed. "So how's the bullet hole?"

"Depends on what I'm doing. Usually it's fine. Sometimes it acts up."

"Sometimes like when Arthur's around?"

"More like when he's busy making me a sandwich."

Gilbert snorted. "No problems, though?"

"Nah, the doctors are amazed with me. It's like I'm built of steel. I could be superman."

"What about mentally?"

Alfred hesitated.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean being kidnapped tends to create side-effects. Like post-traumatic stress syndrome."

"What would you know about it?" Alfred snapped,

Gilbert snorted. "I'm going to pretend you didn't ask that because it means I can imagine you actually have an IQ in the double digits. But it's not good to repress stuff like that."

"Well it-what?"

"Seriously. You can't just pretend shit didn't happen. Trust me."

"You should talk to your brother some time."

"What? Why?"

"Nothing. But I'm not repressing anything. Really."

"Look, coming from someone with years of pent-up misery to vent? It always feels better when you talk about it. Even when you're positive it won't."

"There's nothing to talk about."

Gilbert groaned and fell back against the stiff hospital-grade sheets. "Okay. Fine. I'll go first. I still really miss Elizabeta. I wish she wasn't marrying that dick. And, honestly, the main reason I haven't tried to get her back is because I think she's better off with him."

Alfred was quiet for a moment.

"Really?"

"Yes." Gilbert said stiffly. "Your turn."

Another sigh. "Okay. Fine. I'm…ashamed to be scared. I feel like there's nothing to be afraid of. I mean, it's a stupid store! And…and I'm ashamed because…I kind of…gave up down there. And I'm not proud of it."

"Dude, you were kidnapped. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"That's what Matt says! That's what…everyone says." Alfred mumbled. "And I…I'm just…I'm not _supposed_ to give up! I always thought that wasn't who I was! I mean…I'd watch movies and TV, and…and think…God, if that were me, I wouldn't just sit there. I'd _do_ something. I'd die trying to get out. And I just _sat_ there. And _took_ it."

"Alfred, you're not a superhero." Gilbert sighed. "I mean, hell, I wouldn't do anything different, I can tell you that."

"But that's not who I am!" Alfred protested! "It's just…it's not me! I thought…I thought I was better than that."

"Better than what? Better than every other poor bastard that found himself at the bottom of some hole? Damn, Alfred, I'm sure you were braver than we were on the outside. You should have seen us, we all just sort of fell apart."

"I know!" Alfred said desperately. "I know, alright? And…and I'm really…I'm sorry about that, I…I could have been more careful, and if I died and….and Matt and….it would have been my fault because I'm a fucking idiot-!"

"Alfred, if you died, it wouldn't have been your fault." Gilbert said seriously. "Okay? Enough. You're a good dude and we all love you. Whoever you are. Now take your meds and stop having an identity crisis."

"Yeah. You're right. I'm just being stupid." Alfred sighed. Gilbert frowned.

"Hey, now, I didn't mean it like that-"

"No, it's cool, I didn't take it like that." Alfred said quickly. "But it's like, almost morning and I've got classes tomorrow. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, call my cell and I'll ring you back from the hospital so Granddad can pick up the tab."

"Got it." Alfred said hurriedly. "Night! Or, good morning? Whatever. See you."

"See you."

The line cut off and Gilbert hung up the phone slowly, hoping he hadn't just made things worse. Damn it, didn't he have enough problems without Alfred being a moron? He wasn't Alfred, he knew better than to tell him this was his disorder acting up, even if he believed it. He'd gotten too close just saying what he had, and he'd seen how Alfred had reacted.

He stared at his broken elbow. He supposed it must be crap, to never really know what emotions were yours or not. All things considered, he was surprised to find he was actually a little glad he wasn't Alfred. Sure, orphaned, brain damaged, and shot, but at least he knew what the fuck he was feeling.

* * *

It was so quiet. He was walking through the streets, the silent, empty streets. He knew them perfectly. He was between his apartment and the bar. He'd walked this way more times than he could really count, especially when his car had broken down.

He was careless, because why should he be afraid? There was nothing to be afraid of. This was a street he'd walked hundreds of times. With friends, without them, laughing, talking, joking. He was always smiling. And he smiled now, humming to himself.

It changed in a heartbeat. An instant. The shock of a gunshot as it cut through the air, changing the world around it. The world was suddenly blood red, as if filtered through a Hollywood lens, but this wasn't a movie. Alfred tried to run, because that was what he was supposed to do, he was supposed to run, but his feet were heavy. Why wouldn't they move? Why couldn't he _move?_

He stumbled forward, an agonizing pace, a horrible, gut-wrenching speed, but it was all he could do. His legs…just wouldn't run faster. Wouldn't run at all.

There was a sudden cry, and he turned, because he knew that voice. His stomach twisted and he ran the opposite direction, because he knew that voice and he had to help. His feet suddenly moved faster, let him run, but he knew he wouldn't be fast enough. He was never fast enough.

Someone clutched at his shirt and he stopped, holding them upright. Why was he never fast enough?

"Gilbert? Gilbert, man, it's alright-"

"No!" Gilbert shouted, struggling to get away from him, but his fingers were locked on his shoulders and now they wouldn't move, frozen with fear and something else Alfred couldn't understand. "No, no, it's not alright!"

"What's wrong? What's going on?" Alfred pressed, heart thudding madly in his chest, because he knew what was wrong. He knew what had happened, but still his mouth formed the words. Why?

"They killed him." Gilbert whimpered. When had he gotten so small? He was like a child, pressed to Alfred's chest. "They…they hurt him and…and it's your fault!"

He struggled again, and this time Alfred's fingers released. He pushed away from Alfred, shaking, staring at the ground. "It's your fault! It's all your fault!"

"It isn't." Alfred protested, but he knew it was. Why did he keep lying?

Gilbert finally looked up at him, and Alfred's heart leapt into his throat, effectively cutting off the scream bubbling there. Blood poured from his empty, black eyes and mouth and nose, dribbling down his chin.

"Why didn't you stop them?" the thing shouted, because it wasn't Gilbert, couldn't be. "Why did you let them do this?"

"I didn't mean to!" Alfred cried. "I didn't…I couldn't do anything!"

"Liar!" Gilbert beat his chest. "You're a liar! This is your fault!"

"It's not!" Still he protested, even though it was, it all was. He pulled Gilbert off of his chest, careful, because he seemed so fragile. He stumbled back, and Alfred could only stare at the gaping hole in his chest, at the emptiness where his...his everything should be. His lungs and heart and ribs, but it was just empty and black. Nothing. How was he even alive?

As if the very thought had stolen away any last traces of life left in him, Gilbert collapsed suddenly. Alfred reached for him, but what was there to reach for? The empty hand turned to dust as he grabbed for it, blowing through his shocked fingers with a sudden breeze.

Alfred stared after the floating dust, dumbstruck, terrified, rooted to the spot with grief and guilt and fear, but he wasn't alone.

"Pity, isn't it?"

He turned sharply, swallowing the sudden cry of terror that threatened to jump from his mouth. Ivan stood behind him, leaning against the wall carelessly. How had he not noticed him?

"And they were so close before this whole mess. At least they're together now." Ivan was holding something Alfred couldn't quite make out. He stared at it with a detached curiosity. "Brothers should always be together, shouldn't they?"

He took a step forward and pressed the thing into Alfred's hand. It was warm and wet and…_moving_. Almost…almost…_beating_. It was only then that he noticed the glimmering scarlet stain on Ivan's jacket, right over the gaping hole that had once contained the heart now in Alfred's hand.

"It belonged to you already, da?" Ivan murmured. "And here it is again."

Alfred wanted to throw it. Wanted to shove it back in the disgusting Russian's chest, because that was where it belonged and that was where it would stay. But he couldn't move, could only stare at the still-beating heart in his hand in some sort of wonder, because how could it still be moving?

Another cry, someone else in pain. Alfred turned, somewhat exhausted. How many people were being hurt?

"Brothers should always be together." Ivan repeated in his ear, and suddenly he and the thudding heart were gone, leaving Alfred's hands bloody. He wiped them on his jeans and turned on the spot, looking for Ivan, for whoever had shouted out, for anyone, but there was only the sickly red air to keep him company.

"ALFRED!" And this time Alfred recognized the voice, making Ivan's bizarre words suddenly make sickening sense. Alfred ran again, desperate, because somewhere Matt was hurting and he had to help, because that was his job. That was his _job_.

He pushed aside a suffocating black curtain that seemed to come from nowhere and stumbled into a quiet room. A church. The seats were all taken, not because of a service, but a funeral. Alfred stepped forward, suddenly afraid. Who was dead? Who had died? It seemed like he knew everyone here, all familiar faces, though he couldn't put a name to some of them. He counted heads, tried to find them all, but none were missing. Who was dead?

He turned to the open casket, suddenly afraid, because he already suspected he knew who was lying in it. Matt was standing over it, sobbing, and, as he watched, he turned, collapsing into Arthur's arms. They stood like that, silent before a silent crowd. No one wanted to move, no one wanted to breathe.

Alfred hesitantly crept closer to the casket, heart thudding in his stomach. He was met with the familiar face, the blond hair, the glasses. He stared at his own dead body, blank, confused, grieving.

Matt continued to cry. He turned, helpless, reaching out for his brother, looking to comfort him, to tell him this was a mistake, because he was right here, right here! He was fine!

His hand slid through Matt's shoulder. He looked at it desperately. He wasn't dead! He wasn't!

"I'm not dead!" he cried, trying to shake his brother, make him look at him, but his hands just passed through his twin like they were made of smoke. Dust, like Gilbert. "I'm not dead, Matt, look at me! This is wrong! I'm not dead, see, I'm alive and breathing and everything!"

But no one would look at him. No one saw him. No one heard him. Alfred felt panic rise up in his stomach, flooding down to his fingertips. Why couldn't they see him?

"I'M NOT DEAD!"

Alfred stared at the wall, panting, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead.

"Of course you're not." Matt mumbled from somewhere across the room. "Go back to sleep."

Alfred swallowed and pulled his knees close to his chest, trying to convince himself he wasn't shaking.

This wasn't anything unusual. It had become something habitual. He hadn't been lying when he'd said dreams were keeping him awake. But they were so…vivid. Yes, in hindsight, not the most realistic, but so…vivid. He could still smell blood, could feel the squelching of a heart in his cupped hands, the rush of dust through his empty fingers…

Just a dream. It was just a dream. Alfred pushed himself out of bed, quietly, trying not to wake Matt again, and crept across the room, feeling his way and trying not to trip over any of his own garbage. He reached the bathroom and slipped inside, flicking the light on only once the door was shut behind him.

He turned the water on, wincing at the sharp rush of noise as water came pouring out of the faucet. He let it run over his fingers for a moment and finally cupped his hands and threw it at himself, closing his eyes as the water splashed across his sticky skin, washing away the last traces of sweat.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

Everyone had nightmares.


	28. Psych

**Well, I finally finished editing this story. It took way longer than it should have and now I'm slightly exhausted, but the good news is it's nice and shiny now and we can move on with the story. And this time it'll make sense. And there will be less filler. And the chapters won't be one scene long.**

**There were a number of changes, and you can read about them in detail on my profile. For right now, here's what you should know (there's explanations on my profile):**

**- Roderich didn't kill anyone. **

**- The 'thanksgiving' scene was removed. This means that Gilbert and Ludwig being orphans is still slightly 'under the table' (being that several people, including Elizabeta, Alfred, Matt, and Feliciano, know, but it's not common knowledge). The same goes for Alfred's bipolar disorder (Gilbert, Matt, and Arthur know about that.).**

**- The movie scene after Thanksgiving stayed. Instead of eating, they just went to a movie.**

**- Alfred calls 'Mr. Austria' (Roderich's grandfather) 'The Emperor' instead. **

**- Alfred and Matt's Dad never died.**

**The rest are small changes that you won't care about, trust me. Probably because I don't really remember what they are. Also, there are chapter titles now. And Breaks between seasons with Trivia. You can go read the Season 1 Break now (I believe it's chapter 23) to learn a few bonus tidbits. Although, one side-effect of clearing everything out was that the AN's are gone. I'll still put them on future chapters, but the previous AN's are lost to time and the vaults of the Internet.**

**Also, there might be a few scenes you've already read in the upcoming chapters. They stop completely in about two, so don't worry. This chapter was the best place to restart the story.**

* * *

"He can't do that! It's…blackmail!"

"Should I…should I tell him no?" Feliciano asked tentatively.

"No!" Elizabeta shouted. Feliciano flinched. "He'll go tell Gilbert right away! That he hasn't yet is impressive…"

"So…So what should we do?"

Elizabeta muttered quietly to herself for a while. Feliciano watched anxiously.

"We'll get the results. We don't have much of a choice." she said firmly. "And _you_-" She turned on him again and he shrunk back. "_You_ won't tell anyone else, is that clear?"

"Yes!" Feliciano nodded vigorously.

"Are you sure? Because you said it was clear last time-"

"I promise, Liz, I promise, promise, promise!" Feliciano cried, covering his eyes.

Elizabeta scowled.

* * *

Gilbert picked through his bag absently.

"It's better than the hospital, isn't it?"

Gilbert scoffed and glanced at Vargas, still standing in the doorway.

"Barely. Same amount of freedom. I guess you're not going to move for a while?"

"I am to watch you like a hawk for the time being."

"Wonderful." Gilbert scoffed. He turned to leave the room.

"Where are you going?"

"To have a bit of a wank. Be right back." Gilbert called, closing the bathroom door. He waited a moment, pressing his ear to the door to make sure Vargas was giving him his due amount of privacy, and pulled out his phone. He listened absently to the sound of connecting wires as the cross-Atlantic call was patched through, settling comfortably in a bathtub that had to be designed for at least four people. He glanced at his watch. Six in the evening. That meant it was…what, ten in the morning, back in the States? On a Sunday? Yeah, he'd be up.

"Hello?"

"Wassup bro?" Gilbert laughed. "I knew you'd be home. Do you ever even go outside?"

"No. Are you still in the hospital?"

"Just got out today." Gilbert sighed, putting his feet up on the faucet. "They gave me a nice shot of morphine for the ride home."

"I thought you were off the stuff?"

"I was. I managed to bang my elbow on the way out."

Ludwig sighed. "You should be put in a bubble."

"Now, now, who would make your life exciting then?"

"I'm sure Feliciano would make sure I wasn't ever bored."

"Ludwig, I'm hurt." Gilbert protested. "I'm your brother. You should value my annoying habits over his."

"And I do." Ludwig said dryly. "So you're alright? No lasting damage?"

"Well it hurts like a bitch. But I'll be fine." Gilbert said uninterestedly. "Like I said, it's just a flesh wound. It didn't even really damage the muscle. I'll be healed up in two weeks, tops."

"If you're sure…"

"I am." Gilbert rubbed his elbow absently. "So. Feliciano do anything exciting lately? If he's replacing me, I should hope he's doing my job well."

"He's plenty annoying, don't worry." Ludwig sighed. "He fell in my bathtub the other day."

"_Your_ bathtub?" Gilbert scoffed. "Last I remembered my name was on the apartment."

"Fine. Our bathtub."

"Good." Gilbert laughed. "So what was he doing in the bathtub?"

"Oh, he…ah…He was…looking for something."

"Looking for something?" Gilbert snorted. "What? Shampoo?"

"Nothing, I don't know, he's a…weird guy."

"Yeah…" Gilbert hummed. "Nice as hell, though."

"True. So…Gilbert…"

"Sup?"

"You…Haven't gotten together with Elizabeta…recently…have you?"

Gilbert felt himself turn a faint pink and was suddenly glad Ludwig couldn't see him. "Uh…well…define recently. I mean, I did date her about a year ago."

"I don't know. Within the last…say…nine months."

"Why?" Gilbert asked evasively.

"Just…just curious."

"Uh…well…maybe." Gilbert scratched his elbow. "Yeah, I might have. Whatever, if Roderich wasn't a complete dick I wouldn't have."

"When?"

"Jeese, why do you care?" Gilbert rolled his eyes. "I dunno, November. Just after Thanksgiving. Yeah, because it was just after you vanished. Excuse me for being a little low on common sense at the time-"

"Didn't you use…protection?"

"This is getting weird." Gilbert said flatly. "Why are you even asking?"

"Just…Please answer."

"It's kind of a weird question. You're sort of asking me what I put on my-"

"Just answer it!"

"Fine! No, I don't think so! But unless Roddy's a dirty boy, I think I'm fine. I had sex with Liz loads of times when we were dating, what do I have to worry about?"

"What about getting pregnant?"

"Nope, I've been having regular periods and everything-"

"Gilbert, be serious!"

"You be serious!" Gilbert retorted. "God, stop asking weird questions! Liz is on the pill, she always has been! She was on the pill way before I even dated her. Remember when she forgot to take it like once and we panicked and didn't have sex for like, two weeks. Heh, then we broke down and did it right on the table, and you came home and-"

"I remember!" Ludwig snapped. "What if she stopped?"

"Goddamn, Ludwig, she's not pregnant." Gilbert said, pushing himself up again, wincing as he brushed the edge of the shower with his bad elbow. "And even if she was, it's her problem. She's the moron who didn't mention her sudden return of fertility."

"What if she was, Gilbert?" Ludwig insisted. "For five seconds, please be serious."

"I am serious." Gilbert said. "Look, if Elizabeta, or any of my girlfriends, was suddenly preggers, I would own up, okay? I mean, it's not the kid's fault his parents are dumbshits."

"Would you?"

"Hell, I practically raised you, what am I afraid of, responsibility?" Gilbert snorted. "What the hell's got you on this train of thought, anyway? You knock up a stripper?"

"No. Just…a project in Psych. Talking about…teen fathers. Had me thinking."

"Whatever. You take too many thinking classes for your own good." Gilbert muttered. He glanced at his watch. "Fifteen minutes, that's a good, respectable time, right?"

"What?"

"Gotta go. I've got a guy waiting on me to finish masturbating."

"…What?"

"Tell Feli I said hi!" Gilbert called, hanging up the phone. He settled back in the bathtub for a moment, unusually content and satisfied. Finally, he swung his legs over the edge and pulled himself out.

Vargas was still waiting for him when he returned to the main room. He looked up from his newspaper idly.

"Have a good time?"

"Why, yes, thank you." Gilbert said pleasantly. He collapsed onto the sofa and rolled over onto his back, staring up at the firelight flickering on the ceiling. "So."

"Yes?" Vargas asked, somewhat dryly.

"What were Feliciano and Lovino like as kids? You raised them from birth, didn't you?"

"Feliciano, yes." Vargas responded. "Lovino was three."

"Huh." Gilbert said absently. "Still pretty young, though."

"He remembers his parents. Feliciano does not."

"Feli just remembers you, huh?"

"It seems so."

"So your…daughter, right?"

"Yes. Maria."

"Weird. How'd she die?"

"Childbirth."

"Oh." Gilbert paused for a moment, taking that in. "That still happens?"

"Occasionally. I regret to say I don't know the details. I wasn't there."

"Why not?"

"I was otherwise occupied."

"What? Why? Oh. Granddad?"

"Yes."

"How old was she?"

"Twenty-three."

Gilbert nodded slowly.

"Her husband?"

"Died two months before."

"How?"

"I wish I knew."

"Mafia business?"

"It's a very dangerous line of work."

"Did he ever turn up?"

"At the bottom of a lake."

"They actually do that?"

"Occasionally."

Gilbert chewed on his lip for a moment.

"How old was he?"

"Twenty-one."

"Huh." So, the same age as him. "So, they mean to have kids?"

"Not really. They married after Lovino was born. I was there for that. The wedding, of course. Lovino was only eight months old. She was twenty. He was eighteen."

"That's so young."

"There aren't many old men in my line of business."

"Yeah." Gilbert said. "Except you."

Vargas was quiet for a moment.

"Yes. Except me."

"What makes you so special?"

Vargas crossed the room, and Gilbert realized, for the first time, that he favored his right foot. Had he always? Or was this new?

"Luck. Luck and skill."

"But mostly luck?"

Vargas nodded.

* * *

Francis glanced up hurriedly, still scribbling on the papers spread out before him.

"What? I'm busy."

"Doing _what?_"

"Work. You know, some of us do it for a living."

"I work." Antonio said indignantly. He leaned over the stand. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to sort out the reservations for tonight. We have a group of four here, and a group of seven here, a group of three….here…But no, we need this table for the group of six…"

"Wow. That sounds really boring."

"Yes, well, evidently I'm the only one around that can do simple math."

"All these French people can't do math?"

"Evidently." Francis looked up, abandoning the seating chart for now. "What are you doing here, anyway? How'd you get inside?"

"The door was unlocked."

"So you just came in?"

"Well you were standing right here…"

"You better not get me in trouble." Francis warned. "If my boss comes around I'm going to shove you out the door."

"Fair enough." Antonio shrugged. "Maybe I won't tell you."

He turned to go. Francis hesitated, pen still hovering over his seating chart, and ran after him.

"Tell me what?"

"Nothing." Antonio said innocently.

"What do you want, then?" Francis demanded.

"Do you still have those little rolls you put on the tables?"

"Maybe." Francis said defensively.

"Maybe I don't have anything to tell you…" Antonio pushed open the door.

"Fine, fine!" Francis pulled him back inside. "Alright, here, follow me. But this better be good."

"It is." Antonio promised, following eagerly. Francis finally paused by a long table in the back, taking a roll from a waiting basket and shoving it into Antonio's hand.

"It's the best you'll eat for weeks."

"Butter?"

Francis handed him a cup of packaged butter. "And?"

"Wait." Antonio took his time pulling the bread apart and buttering it with his fingers. Francis tapped his foot impatiently.

"I have work to do you know-"

"Wait."

"My boss is coming back any minute-"

"Wait." Antonio took a bite of bread slowly. "Alright."

"Well?" Francis demanded.

"Elizabeta was in the store the other day. Bought a pregnancy test." Antonio said uninterestedly. He finished off the roll and eyed the rest.

"She…what?"

"Yeah. Someone buttered her bun, I dunno. Can I get another roll?"

"No." Francis pushed him towards the door. "Stop coming here for free food, you'll get me fired. So Elizabeta is pregnant?"

"At the very least, she thinks she's pregnant. She seemed rather uncomfortable when she came in, so I guess she wasn't just being paranoid."

Francis returned to his seating charts. "This is interesting."

"I think we should look into it."

"Well of course we'll be looking into it." Francis snapped. "Why wouldn't we?"

"True."

"Come back after my shift, we'll pay Elizabeta a little visit."

"Fine, but she's not going to tell us anything. She almost stole the rabbit test."

"No, _she_ won't." Francis allowed. "But her trash might."

Antonio nodded.

* * *

"Well, here's the test."

Francis leaned over the edge of the dumpster and took the strip of plastic from Antonio.

"Why am I in the trash, again?"

"You drew the short straw."

"They looked the same size to me…"

"Yours was clearly shorter." Francis said distractedly. "This is positive."

"Really?" Antonio leaned over the edge of the dumpster. Francis leaned away from him.

"Yes, really. Get back in there, you smell disgusting."

"You're the one that made me get in here." Antonio grumbled, backing up a few steps and tripping. He hit his head on the edge of the dumpster and lay there for a moment, stunned.

"Hurry up and get out of there, before we get caught again." Francis called, letting go of the lid. It fell down and cut off his light, leaving him alone with the trash. A sense of claustrophobia set in and he scrambled to his feet, panting in the crisp, clean air as he shoved the lid back again. Francis was already walking away, holding the test under the streetlight gingerly. Antonio managed to climb back onto solid ground without injuring himself further.

"Two lines." Francis said, showing him the test. Antonio leaned closer and nodded.

"Might not be hers though. How do we know?"

"I suppose you're right." Francis said thoughtfully. He stared at the test for a while longer. "Go get the bag you found this in."

"What?"

"Just go do it. And stop standing that close. You're making me sick."

Antonio rolled his eyes and climbed back up into the dumpster, hanging folded over the edge as he reached for the last bag he'd torn open. Francis was still waiting for him under the streetlight.

"What are you looking for, anyway? What else could there be?"

"Something to tell us this is Elizabeta's trash, obviously." Francis said. "Unless you want to go look through all the trash bags and find another test…"

"No, no, this is a good idea." Antonio said hurriedly. Francis nodded and picked through the trash. From beneath the decaying orange peels, yellowing homework assignments, and a mass grave of broken pens, Francis pulled a few crumpled papers, smoothing them out.

"What's that?" Antonio asked curiously.

Francis frowned at the paper in his fist. "Test results."

"For what? She doesn't have an STD, does she?"

"There's nothing wrong with having an STD!"

"There is everything wrong with what you just said." Antonio said, examining a half-eaten apple core. "Remind me to warn every girl you talk to."

"I don't have an STD." Francis scowled. "Anymore…" he added under his breath.

"So what's the test about?"

"Oh, what, this?" Francis asked dryly. "You mean these paternity test results for Roderich's DNA?"

"What?" Antonio tossed the apple core over his shoulder and reached for the paper. "Well? What's it say?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Francis said, holding him arm's length.

"You dick! What's it say?"

Francis sighed. "They're inconclusive."

Antonio sagged. "So they're useless."

"I didn't say that." Francis frowned and flipped through the tests. "It's rather interesting…Elizabeta isn't sure the baby is Roderich's."

"So?"

"So, if you had to take a wild guess about the other possible father of Elizabeta's baby, what direction would you aim for?"

"…oh." Antonio said slowly. "But…Gilbert's in Germany."

"Yes, but he wasn't _always._"

"So…the baby is Gilbert's."

"We don't know that either." Francis sighed, exasperated. "But we have the paternity test."

"But…it's inconclusive."

"Inconclusive results just mean they couldn't repeat the test with desirable outcomes. A lot of times the tests are very clear, but legally the lab cannot return the results as positive or negative."

Antonio stared at him. "How many times have you taken one?"

"There was a question of whether my father was truly my father for a while." Francis said indignantly. "Or…my other father. Or…the mailman-look it's not important how I know!"

"So being a whore runs in the family?" Antonio snickered.

"Shut up." Francis said impatiently. "The point is, these test results aren't completely useless."

"So?" Antonio shrugged. "You can't read them. I certainly can't read them. They're useless to us."

Francis stood and brushed himself off. "No, but they _aren't _useless to a _doctor_. Or, say, someone in premed with access to a lab."

Antonio stared at him, still on the ground.

"So?"

"You are the most useless person I know." Francis sighed, pulling Antonio to his feet. "We _know_ someone in premed."

"Who do we know?"

Francis carefully folded the crumpled paper. "Haven't you met Lili?"

"Vash's sister?" Antonio said, scratching his dirty hair.

"She's very nice." Francis said, smiling at the thought. "I'm sure she'd help…"

"I dunno, girls you fuck rarely want anything to do with you afterwards…"

"I have not slept with her!" Francis snapped indignantly, ignoring the jab at his personal life. "Have you _met_ Vash? I very much like my body in this shape!"

"Whatever you say." Antonio shrugged. "But you know you want to."

"Of course I do." Francis waved the suggestion away. "I have self-control."

"Maybe I should talk to her, just in case." Antonio suggested, choosing not to pick apart his friend's last statement.

"Do you remember what I said about your take on discrete?"

"Ye…Okay fine, we'll both talk to her." Antonio huffed. "When's she get off?"

"In twenty minutes. That's just enough time to get to the hospital." Francis said brightly.

"Why do you know that so well?"

"I might have talked to her when Gilbert was hospitalized. She was very sympathetic."

"Nice. Using your friend's crippling injuries as a way to get the girl."

"Just hurry up. She'll have left by the time we finish this conversation."

* * *

"Oh, hi Francis!" Lili said brightly. "How have you been?"

"Very well, mon cher." Francis said pleasantly. "And yourself?"

"Oh, I've been good. Tired. I'm working a lot of long hours here."

"Aren't you going home now?" Francis asked.

"Oh, no, I've been taking extra night shifts. I just have a break now. You aren't here for another test, are you-"

"Oh, no, nothing like that." Francis said hurriedly as Antonio snickered. "N…nothing like that. I was actually hoping you could help us with a little…hmm…conundrum."

"I'll try." Lili smiled as she passed her clipboard off to a nurse and turned back to Francis as he unfolded the test results.

"We were wondering if you could tell us what these say."

Lili took the papers and raised her eyebrows. "Francis, you haven't gotten some poor girl pregnant, have you?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Francis said calmly. "It's a…er..friend. His results are inconclusive, but I was wondering if you could give us a little…bias, one way or another."

"Well inconclusive tests aren't always a matter of little things. Sometimes the test couldn't be run at all, or neither parent was shown to be related to the child, or something like that."

"But can you read them?" Antonio burst out, practically vibrating. Lili looked up at him.

"Ignore him." Francis said. "Is there anything you can tell us?"

"Hum…Well, I'm not nearly an expert, but I run these papers back and forth a lot for the doctors, so I've kind of learned to read them…" She flipped to the unintelligible charts. "Do you know how paternity tests are run? They look at the child's genome, then take out the chromosomes he's inherited from his mother, and then compare the remaining. If they match, it's the father."

"…Okay."

"Sorry, I'm just trying to remember what they told us in school. We haven't done a lot with genetic tests." she mumbled. "This…hm…Oh, these are pretty readable, actually, it looks like the tests were actually conclusive, but…ah…the samples were…contaminated in the lab before the test could be repeated…"

"What's that mean?" Antonio asked curiously.

Lili blushed slightly. "That an intern knocked over a petri dish, usually. It happens more often than you'd think."

"Really? But what about-"

"Never mind that." Francis said impatiently. "So what do the results say? Is the donor the father or not?"

"Hmm…oh, this is weird." Lili said thoughtfully. "Let's see…Oh."

"What?" Antonio demanded.

"W…well…" Lili said, stumbling over her words. "It's just…It's hard to tell, without running more tests, and…and I'm not very good at this, but…"

"Well?"

"The donor…_is_ related to the child-"

Francis and Antonio deflated.

"So it's Roderich's kid…" Antonio muttered to Francis. Francis shook his head.

"I was so sure for a moment there…"

"W…wait, you didn't let me finish!" Lili protested.

"What?" Francis demanded. Lili winced.

"I…I'm sorry, _mon cher,_ I've just been so worked up over these results…"

Lili smiled again. "Oh, I understand. I'm sorry I can't help more. I was going to say, he's related, but I don't think he's the father."

Francis and Antonio stared at her.

"W…what?"

"Well…Like I said, I'm not that good at this, but from the looks of this, the donor was related to the father. It looks…pretty close. Within a generation or two. Maybe…brothers. Or cousins." She handed them the paternity test results. "You'd have to get one of the lab boys to look at it closer. Sorry I couldn't be more help."

"Oh, no, you've been _so_ much help." Francis said pleasantly, smiling again, elbowing Antonio so he would shut his gaping mouth. "You tell that brother of yours I said hello, won't you?"

"I will. I have to get back to work, but it was so nice talking to you, Francis!" Lili said, turning away. Francis nodded.

"I'll have to come back sometime-"

"Come on." Antonio said determinedly. He dragged him outside into the dark. In the light of another streetlamp, they leaned over the results, heads bent together.

"Maybe it's Ludwig's DNA. You could've read it wrong." Antonio said quietly.

"No, no it says right here, Roderich Edelstein." Francis showed him. "It's definitely his."

Antonio frowned. "Maybe…she used his name. Just to, you know, throw people off."

Francis shook his head. "Why would she? She's getting a paternity test in the first place, if someone finds this she's screwed one way or the other. It doesn't matter what the name is."

"But…Then the baby is Roderich's…nephew, or something. Or…does he even have any cousins?" Antonio asked. "Who could Elizabeta have slept with?"

Francis sighed, lost in thought.

"Unless…"

"What?"

"Well…We don't _really_ know who Gilbert's parents are-"

"No way. You don't think they're related…"

"They're both from German countries-"

"So?"

"So they both evidently come from long bloodlines, maybe…they are related."

Antonio grinned suddenly.

"Well you know what this means, don't you?"

"Besides the rather disturbing fact that Gilbert is now a father?"

Antonio's grin fell a bit. "Well…yeah, that. But also…"

"We need to find a way to make this blow up in everyone's faces?"

"That goes without saying."

* * *

There was a light tap on the window. Gilbert looked up, somewhat startled, watching a familiar figure slip onto the balcony. He stared for a moment, as they pressed to the window, watching him, before finally giving in and standing up. He unlocked the door and slipped outside, rather than let them in. They hurriedly stepped aside and stared at him anxiously for a moment.

"How's your arm?" Natasha asked hesitantly.

"Sore." Gilbert said stiffly.

Natasha chewed her tongue for a moment, meeting his eyes as he stared her down.

"So are you going to tell me what the fuck happened, or did you just come by to make sure I'm not dead?"

Natasha laughed suddenly, as if he'd said something hilarious. He stared at her, startled, and she pulled him into a hug so fast he didn't even see it coming. Or have a chance to protest it.

"Get out." she breathed, so quietly Gilbert almost didn't catch it. "Get out of Berlin. You're getting involved in something you don't want to be a part of."

"What?" Gilbert asked, just as quietly.

"Now. As soon as you can. Leave. Go back to America."

"What do you mean?" Gilbert whispered back, just as hushed.

"Just go. This never happened."

She pulled away, giggling, and pushed him gently, playfully. "You're such a tease, Gilbert! I can't stay tonight, you know that. I'll come back in a few days!"

And, with that, she leapt lightly over the balcony and disappeared into the dark below. Gilbert stared after her for a while, trying to pick out her form against the grass as she twisted away. He thought for a minute she would head towards the gap in the fence he'd discovered, but she seemed to be going for the front gate before he lost track of her and gave up. He turned back to his room, still a little stunned.

It was empty, for now. Vargas had finally left a few hours back, though Gilbert got the feeling he wasn't supposed to. He'd left his pills neatly arranged on the table, each marked with a date and time. Gilbert paused by them, frowning. How long did he intend to be gone?

He finally gave in and shrugged, swallowing the pills designated for that morning. The sun would be up soon. He'd tried sleeping multiple times, but, inevitably, he would just throw the blankets aside and storm around the room, fuming and trying to figure out what horrible, horrible nightmare he'd stumbled into, where he had everything he'd ever wanted, and no freedom at all.

Despite what Ludwig might have to say on the subject, Gilbert had not always been the all-knowing, confident, impenetrable wall of undefeated awesomeness he was today. It did something funny to a twelve-year-old's psyche to be solely responsible for a child you had, for the large majority of your life, been mildly annoyed with at all times.

They were brothers. Of course they'd fought. And argued, and bickered, and stolen from each other, and been forced to sit on opposite sides of the room, playing with mangled GI Joes in frustrated silence. And suddenly they'd been orphaned and Gilbert wasn't allowed to get mad at Ludwig for being stupid, or being slow, or too loud. He wasn't just supposed to be nice to his little brother, suddenly he had to figure out how to feed him, how to keep him clothed, try and keep some kind of roof over his head.

But that also meant he'd grown up with an almost unlimited feeling of freedom. Whatever happened, he was the one that did it. But…_this_. He was trapped here! He couldn't do anything. He had everything he could ever need and he was prisoner in it. The irony was rather bitter.

Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the pills start to take hold. Some of the growing ache in his arm and back eased, at the expense of his energy. He collapsed on the sofa and buried his face on the cushions, groaning.

Get out? Was she aware he'd been trying for two months now? He was starting to drift off as the sun finally cleared the horizon, sending blinding red light through the windows. He blearily looked up, blinking at the sunlight flooding his room.

Why was his life so fucking complicated?

* * *

"Please! Just for a while! I'm so bored here!"

"No." Granddad said stiffly, ignoring his frustrated grandson still trailing after him determinedly.

"Please! Come on, I've been good-"

"You snuck out in the middle of the night against my very specific instructions and managed to get yourself shot and another man killed."

"You killed him!" Gilbert protested. "Come on, Granddad, I'm going to go completely insane here! Aren't I here to get healthier?"

Granddad snorted and said nothing. Gilbert continued picking at him, trying to worm just a few days in America out of him. "Come on! I'd come right back! I promised my friends I'd let them come over, and I haven't seen Ludwig in _forever_, I _miss_ him, come on, Granddad! I'll be so good!"

"You wouldn't be otherwise?" Granddad asked raising an eyebrow.

"PLEASE!" Gilbert begged, clasping his hands together. "PLEASE, PLEASE_, PLEASE, _GRANDDAD!"

Granddad sighed and Gilbert's heart leapt hopefully.

"Just for a few veeks."

"Right." Gilbert nodded enthusiastically.

"And then you vill return without any argument?"

"I won't even say a word."

A long bout of silence. Gilbert watched Granddad , heart pounding.

"Not longer than a month." Granddad warned.

Gilbert cheered and pumped the air with his fist. "Yes, god, yes! Totally!"

"You'll be good while you are there. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Gilbert was practically bouncing. "Thank you, Granddad!" he cried, hugging him and dashing away.

* * *

Elizabeta stared at her coffee. She'd chosen an unassuming little coffee shop on the edge of town, one she'd been in maybe two times before, even though she had an employee discount at the one just down the street from her apartment. If Roderich found it at all suspicious, he said nothing.

"Nice outside." he said, nodding towards the window. Elizabeta glanced through the hazy March fog and smiled weakly. Roderich had to know something was wrong. She'd been acting so weird. But, again, he said nothing. He was a gentleman like that.

Elizabeta took a long drink of coffee – decaffeinated, apparently caffeine was off-limits – trying to ignore the way her stomach brushed up against the table through her jacket. She wasn't very big, considering she was teetering on three months pregnant now. The doctors said it was normal, that the baby was healthy. If it weren't for their assurances and her home test, she'd be wondering if this wasn't some kind of annoying prank.

But it wasn't. Elizabeta stared at the gentle waves of coffee that lapped against the edge of her paper cup.

"Maybe we can go to the mountains for spring break, just the two of-"

"I'm pregnant."

Roderich stopped mid-sentence, still staring out the window. Elizabeta glanced up at him and then hurriedly looked back at her cup.

There was a long silence, during which Elizabeta listened to a conversation a few booths over.

"_Do you know what you're getting him for his birthday?"_

"_Not sure yet."_

"_What about a book?"_

"_Hmm…Nah, he's already got a book."_

"Are you sure?"

It took Elizabeta a moment to realize it was Roderich that had said the last comment, and that it was directed at her. She looked up.

"W..what?"

"Are you sure?" Roderich pressed. "Did you..." He stopped, as if realizing he had no idea how one made the discovery of a pregnancy, nor how they went about qualifying that theory.

"Yes." she told her coffee.

"And…Hmm."

She looked up uneasily. Roderich was staring at something just over her head, subtly chewing his lip in a way that made her want to tell him this was all a joke and drag him to the nearest semi-private place she could find.

"I know a tailor a little ways north that would let out your dress for us, unless you just want to try a-"

Elizabeta laughed and leaned over the table to kiss him, wondering why she'd ever been afraid to tell him a thing. He kissed her back happily, and, suddenly, pulled away. Not in rejection, or uncertainty, more…a suitable pause in the moment.

"Just…one question?"

"Yes?" Elizabeta asked breathily, still leaning over the table.

"It's…mine?" his voice went up an octave or two.

Elizabeta froze. The gears in her head were spinning so fast she was sure steam was spilling out of her ears. She opened her mouth, and, before she even realized what she was saying, what she even _wanted_ to say, she heard someone reply, in her voice, oddly enough.

"Yes. Of course. Why would you think that?" she lied easily.

Roderich grinned and nodded, and they resumed their date amid discussion of maternity dresses and wedding plans.

* * *

"Are you sure?"

Katyusha kissed him, and it was different from everything before. Less innocent, more passionate. Hungrier.

"Stop asking." she murmured.

Matt swallowed nervously as she kissed his jaw gently, and stared at the wall as her kisses grew less gentle. Alfred would give him hell if he saw a bruise on his neck…

No. Don't think about Alfred. That was just stupid. He nervously pulled his shirt up over his head and Katyusha pulled away. His head caught on the neck of his t-shirt and Katyusha had to help him out of it. He blushed madly, and then blushed harder because it didn't seem like he ought to be blushing right now. He glanced down at his own spindly form, wishing he could be a little more like Alfred, for once. It was the only way they differentiated physically, really. He was bookish and quiet and Alfred bench-pressed trucks for fun.

He was thinking about Alfred again. Katyusha worked at the buttons of her shirt and Matt hurried to help her, but his fingers were sweating and kept slipping, which just made everything worse. Wet stains appeared where his hands brushed her white shirt and he finally gave up and just let her do it.

Her shirt fell away and he smiled weakly, admiring what he'd already seen. Katyusha wasn't the first girl to take her top off for him, or even her pants. He'd gotten far, just…never quite that far.

Now he was thinking about other girls. Excellent timing, dickwad. He really was just like Alfred.

Well now he was just trying to hate himself.

Katyusha's bra clipped in the front. This Matt knew. He fumbled with it for a moment, attention directed entirely on the little clasps. They were straining a little, which only served to make things more difficult and more urgent. Her bra was thick and sturdy. Nothing thin or lacy for her, but didn't that just make everything better?

Katyusha put her hands over his, guiding his sweating fingers.

"Don't be nervous, Mattie." she murmured, half the sweet voice she used with him out in the world and half something else, something that only came out when he managed to pick apart her shirt. It sent a shiver down his spine, something he tried to hide for fear of looking ridiculous. "No one is watching but me. You don't think I would judge you like that, do you?"

Matt shook his head, trying to look comforted, but to be honest, he'd rather an entire line of classmates, including Alfred, be watching, instead of Katyusha.

The last clasp pried apart and her thick black bra fell away.

* * *

Alfred kissed Arthur's neck hungrily, swiping his tongue across the salty-bitter skin. Arthur's fingers dug into his back, pulling at his shirt, leaving little red scratches over the golden skin.

He pulled back, gasping for air, watching a purple bruise float up to the surface of the skin. Arthur pulled him down again, crushing their lips together, tongues fighting for dominance, fingers stretching the cheap cotton of his shirt. They wrestled with each other greedily, clothes slowly falling away. Arthur traced the swollen welt running down his stomach, lapping at it softly. Alfred watched, fingers tangled with his sandy blond hair.

He pulled up again and they were sitting, arms intertwined, breath hot and wet in each other's mouths, sapphire blue eyes meeting moss green. There was something more than the lust and physical need there, as they paused in their greedy destruction of their clothes. Something buried just under it, twinkling in the glittering colors of their eyes.

Maybe they were too young to call it love. Maybe they were immature, and inexperienced, and naïve, but to them…

It was close enough.

* * *

They were so close. Matt hovered over her, naked as the day he was born, watching her eyes flicker down over him. He didn't know how to compare himself to anyone else. Yeah, he'd seen Alfred, and they were about the same size, but…Well she was Russian…

But she was so pretty. And her eyes hesitated on his, smiling as they stared at each other.

Love. Was it love? He'd never felt this way over any other girl, over anyone. He wanted to spend every second of every last day with her, until they were old and gray. That was love, wasn't it? He never wanted to let her out of his sight, wanted her always here with him.

That…was love, wasn't it?

* * *

Alfred pressed him back, grinning as Arthur let him lead, guiding their motions as they become more desperate, more urgent. The feeling took over and the last of their clothes fell away as they pressed together in perfect symmetry, lips in sync, the perfect match. Alfred had been with so many people, men and women, boys and girls, seen so much, done a lot of things, and no one ever came close to Arthur.

It wasn't his body. It wasn't his perfect face, or his sharp sandy hair, or his brilliant eyes. It was him, all of him, the way he always moved with Alfred, the way they both knew what to do without needing to speak, the way neither of them were frustrated or aggravated or angry, the way they trusted each other. Even when they'd broken up, he hadn't wanted much from anyone else. Nothing would ever live up to this.

* * *

**Thanks so much for sticking around, guys! Season 3 is in the works right now, and I promise it'll come out much better than the past few have the first time around (that's what I said about season 2, wasn't it?).**

**I'm also considering season 4. No promises yet, because this story is getting tricky since I decided to up the quality, but I do have a few ideas I'd be willing to throw around.**

**Please, **_**please**_** review and tell me if you caught any glitches, chapters that didn't match up, massive typos, confusing scenes, missing horizontal rules. It was tricky getting everything up and running again, and I'm sure I missed something.**

**There should be an update really soon. And I mean it this time.**


	29. A Hasty and Somewhat Unwelcome Return

**I know this stuff gets confusing. Sorry guys. The good news is I think this is the last chapter that reuses scenes, so from here out the story should just continue on. Shit goes down in a few chapters, so I know it's getting a little boring for now, just hang in there. :I**

**Also, the review reply apparently isn't/wasn't working, so thanks to everyone who pointed out the issues created when I re-uploaded.**

* * *

"Alfred, go refill the ice trays!" Matt called, shoving the empty tray at his brother. Alfred grabbed it before he caught him in the stomach and groaned.

"But it's cold in there-"

"Go."

Alfred scowled and pushed the kitchen door open. Matt sighed and rubbed the counters, turning when a customer drunkenly flagged him down. The door opened, letting in a cold February breeze that managed to get all the way to the counter. He finished pouring the drink and smiled politely.

"Hey, guys. The usual?" he reached under the counter for the nozzles.

"Sure." Roderich said, unwrapping his scarf with some difficulty. Elizabeta reached up to help him.

"None for me, Matt. I'll just have a soda."

"What, did you pull the short straw again?" Alfred called, shoving the trays back into place. "I can't remember the last time you didn't leave here drunk…"

"I don't always leave drunk!" Elizabeta snapped.

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen you in here for a while…" Alfred mused. "Almost, what, a month? Where've you been, unearthing some poor soul's deepest secrets?"

"No, Alfred." Elizabeta said huffily, taking the soda Matt handed her a little harder than necessary.

"So, what, we're not good enough for you anymore?" Alfred laughed, pouring himself a drink. "You're not getting your fix somewhere else, are you, Lizzy? We all know you're not one to be satisfied with just one-"

"Well you probably won't be seeing much of me for the next six months anyway!" Elizabeta snapped. Matt took note of the faint blush tinting her cheeks.

"What, going on vacation to Bitch Island?" Alfred probed teasingly while Matt did the math in his head.

"No!" Elizabeta said angrily. Six, seven, eight…

"So, what? Oh, I know, you joined AA. Well if you ever need a sponsor I'm-"

"No! If you must know, we're expecting." Elizabeta said finally.

"Expecting what?" Alfred asked blankly. February, January, December…Matt nodded and went back to cleaning the counter.

"A baby!" Elizabeta exploded testily.

"From where? OH!" Alfred managed to catch on before he hurt himself. "You're pregnant! Ohhhhh…"

"Glad you caught up." Elizabeta sighed. "Yes. We are."

"I never understood that." Alfred scoffed. "'We'. Only _one_ of you is pregnant, why say 'we'…"

Matt rolled his eyes. "Congratulations. When are you due? August, right?"

"Yeah. Late August." Elizabeta said, ignoring Alfred.

"That's just after you guys are supposed to get married, isn't it?" Alfred asked. "You gonna get a fat dress or-"

"I'm not fat!" Elizabeta snapped, rapping him over the head. Alfred winced. "We haven't decided yet. We might move the date."

"Well congrats on the brat." Alfred said, rubbing his bruised scalp. "You want some of the non-alcoholic shit we keep around for the invalids?"

"No, just soda." Elizabeta sighed. "Caffeinated, make sure it's caffeinated."

"Isn't that supposed to be bad for the baby or something?" Matt asked, finally pulling out the beer Roderich had asked for.

"Only in large doses. A can of soda is fine. I just have to be careful with coffee, I drink the stuff like it's water when I'm working."

"So when you're fat-"

"Not fat!"

"…visibly pregnant, is that okay?" Alfred scoffed. "When your stomach protrudes, are you gonna keep up school? Semester just started, you can still drop most of your classes and get your money back."

Elizabeta shrugged. "I don't know, probably. The deadline is in two weeks, I'm sure I'll figure it out by then." She laughed. "And then I'll hide. I already told Feliciano he doesn't have to keep biting his tongue. Keeping that kid quiet is like controlling a force of nature. Everyone'll know by next week."

"By tomorrow. Have you actually met Feliciano?" Alfred scoffed. "I don't tell him anything."

Elizabeta nodded and drank her soda. "Yeah, true."

"What about after? You gonna come back to school?"

"Of course." Elizabeta snapped. "I'm not going to just drop out."

"Just asking. Marrying into money generally means you don't have to try too hard." Alfred pointed out, nudging Roderich teasingly. "Gotta keep a girl like that satisfied, right? How much does she spend per week, like, eight hundred, nine hundred thousand?"

"Shut up, Alfred." Elizabeta scoffed. "I'll come back." Matt didn't think she sounded so sure, but Alfred didn't seem to notice.

"Well if you want. Honestly, _why_, I don't understand. I mean, if I found some rich bastard I wouldn't even go _outside_… Come to think of it, do you have any brothers, Roderich?"

"No." Roderich said shortly. "And I think Arthur will have your head for that."

"Psh, Arthur's always grumpy, might as well have fun." Alfred laughed. "Shame. I could use a few extra bucks."

"To what? Buy porn?" Matt asked dryly.

"Maybe." Alfred said indignantly.

* * *

Gilbert looked at his ticket again, to make sure he had the right terminal. He'd never forgive himself if he missed this flight. Never.

Granddad was busy, but that was fine, so long as he sent his lapdog after Gilbert to make sure he didn't get shot. Again.

Vargas carried the suitcase he himself had neatly sorted and packed, looking like the perfect butler. Gilbert wondered idly, not for the first time, who Lovino and Feliciano's parents had been to so eclipse the personality of a self-serious man-servant. Although, maybe he'd been a bit different when he'd been in charge of a mafia. That sort of thing had to take its toll on your personality.

He looked up and found himself in the proper terminal, at the proper time, without a second of delay on the board behind the desk. How odd.

He turned to take his suitcase from Vargas, who released it without hesitation. Gilbert hefted it for a moment, wondering if he could manage. Which was stupid, because of course he could, and what a stupid question. He was just glad he wouldn't need help from the attendants this time. Or even his cane. Yes, things were looking up.

"_Flight 317 now boarding_."

Gilbert looked up, a little unnerved by their timing. He gave Vargas one last grin and turned to the terminal gate. His first-class ticket got him on board early, which, hopefully, meant he could sit soon. Cane or no, it was way too early to be upright.

A hand caught his shoulder and he hesitated.

"Just a moment."

"This couldn't have been at a better time?" Gilbert demanded, but let himself be dragged away to the corner of the terminal. "A whole awkward car ride you had, and _now_ you're going to impart you wisdom on-"

"Shut up." Vargas said uncharacteristically. Gilbert was quiet. "You should know that it isn't a bizarre coincidence or your terrible luck that you and my grandsons attend the same college."

"I kind of figured."

"I said to be quiet. Just listen." Vargas said, hands tight on Gilbert's shoulders. He wondered suddenly if Vargas would stoop low enough to take an eye for an eye – a grandson for a grandson? He _was_ a _Mafioso_, after all…

"Twenty-odd years ago your father lived at the house you've been staying in." Vargas said quickly, as if realizing he was pressed for time. "In the room you've been staying in, as a matter of fact."

Gilbert hadn't thought of that.

"That was just a few years after I'd been…demoted. Your father was a teenager then, he…took a liking to me. He hated your grandfather, absolutely hated him, maybe that was why he struck up a relationship with his rival's daughter, maybe he was just as stupid as you are, but regardless, he came to me one night and said he'd managed to get the Edelstein girl pregnant, that he was running away. He said I should come with him. To America."

"And you did."

"Of course I did." Vargas said impatiently. "My daughter had died maybe a month back, my only family was those two boys, and I couldn't very well raise them as an underling! I brought them to Colorado, we moved every few months, until I knew they could take care of themselves. Your grandfather caught up to me just a year before they left for that college. I stayed in contact with your father until the accident…and after that, I kept track of you."

"You did what?" Gilbert asked, mind reeling. They were calling out for any last boarders, they were shutting the gate in just a moment…

Vargas was talking faster now. "Did you never wonder where your college funds magically appeared from? The acceptance letter from a college you never applied to?"

Gilbert had always assumed he'd just forgotten about it. They were shutting the gates now, he had to go.

"Why now?" he demanded furiously. "Why are you just springing this on me now?"

"Because your father saw the sense in keeping my grandchildren a secret from your grandfather. And I'm hoping you won't make that effort in vain by telling them about me."

Gilbert pulled away, suitcase in hand, trying to think. They were shutting the terminal gates.

Without saying a word, he turned and dashed for the gate, making it just in time and shoving his ticket onto the desk. They grudgingly let him through, and he looked back at the last moment at the closing doors behind him, at Vargas, watching him in silence.

The doors closed and he was gone.

* * *

"Hey, Ludwig, you have that test next week, right?" Alfred called, topping off a drink and pushing it towards a customer that was completely ignoring him. Ludwig looked up from his history book distractedly.

"Uh…yeah, next week." he nodded. "Civil War. 1849 to…1863?"

"1865. But you're close." Alfred pulled the book away from him. "Let's see…What did…the.. Methodists, Congregationalists and Quakers think of slavery?"

"Most were abolitionists."

Alfred looked up.

"What's an abolitionist?"

"They opposed slavery."

"Oh. Well, yes. And the…Catholic, Episcopal and Lutherans?"

"They….ignored it."

"Right. Because it was easier to pretend God didn't care about slavery than actually form opinions or something. Okay. When did the Civil War begin?"

"1861."

"What day?"

Ludwig groaned. "There's a day? Let's see…August?"

"April." Alfred corrected. "Close enough. April 12, 1861. What happened that day?"

"…I have no idea."

Alfred flipped back a few pages. "Forces attacked a U.S. military installation at Fort Sumter in South Carolina on April 12, 1861. Which forces?"

"C…confederate."

"How did Lincoln respond?"

"He…sent troops."

"How many?"

"Is that really important?"

"Fair point. A rough estimate."

"In the thousands."

"75,000. Why did he send them?"

"…Because the South attacked?"

"More specifically."

"…I don't know."

"To 'recapture forts, protect the capital, and preserve the Union'. So basically, you're right, because the South was moving forward North and he had to defend the Union."

"Right."

"What was the First Battle of Bull Run?"

"…I'm going to go out on a limb and say it was a battle."

"You're on the right track. What was important about it?"

"It…was…the first battle between the North and South?"

"Sort of. The first major battle. What else?"

"There's more?"

"What did this battle make both sides realize?"

"That history is for losers stuck in the past."

Alfred and Ludwig looked up.

"You two are such nerds."

"What the fuck?" Alfred demanded, climbing over the counter and hugging Gilbert before he could disappear or turn to dust or run away. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Can't…breathe…"

"You so can, baby." Alfred pouted, letting go. Gilbert rubbed his chest and laughed.

"My plane got in about thirty minutes ago. I took a cab."

"Why didn't you say you were coming back?" Ludwig asked.

"Isn't life better with surprises?" Gilbert said mysteriously. "First things first, though, where's the goddamn booze, because I have been sober for months now."

"Yessir." Alfred saluted him and jumped back over the counter.

"Alfred, don't do that." Matt scolded. "Good to see you, Gilbert. Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Skull fractures healed up a few weeks ago." Gilbert rapped his knuckles on his head and laughed. "Had a scan before I left. Everything looks healed up."

"Do you still walk funny?" Alfred asked eagerly.

"No." Gilbert said shortly, sitting down next to Ludwig and looking over his shoulder at his book. "Everything works just fine. What are you studying, anyway?"

"American history." Ludwig said, flipping through the book. "What was the point of that battle, Alfred?"

"What, the Bull Run thing? Oh, it was the first real battle between the two forces, and even though the Union lost, both sides realized it would be a much longer war that they'd thought. And bloodier. The Civil War was the bloodiest American war in the entire history of the United States."

"Really?" Gilbert asked. "Even including like, World War II and stuff?"

"Way more." Alfred nodded, handing Gilbert a glass. "You gotta remember it was America versus America, though, so you're counting _both_ the North and South's casualties."

"True…oh my god, I missed beer." Gilbert finished off his glass eagerly. "So much."

"What, don't they have bars in Germany?" Alfred asked, laughing.

"Of course they do, that doesn't mean I'm _allowed_ in one." Gilbert scoffed. "Granddad pretty much locked me in my room the entire time."

"So how'd you escape?"

"Dunno, really. I guess I just bugged him enough that he gave in."

"Sounds about right." Ludwig said absently. Gilbert laughed and shoved him.

"So where's everyone else? Seems kinda empty."

"Um…Well Artie has a test he's studying for, and apparently 'the bar isn't the best place for learning', but that's mostly because he's a drunk, Francis and Antonio are…actually, I dunno, I haven't seen them for a few days. Feliciano just left, and…you'll have to ask Matt where Katy is. Oh, and Liz is over there with Roderich." Alfred pointed down the bar. Gilbert took his refilled glass and took a long drink before glancing after Alfred's finger.

He choked for a moment and Ludwig clapped him on the back.

"For fuck's sake, don't kill me." Gilbert protested, rubbing his wounded back. Ludwig shrugged and turned back to his notes. "She...uh…she looks…good?"

"Oh, yeah, she's preggers." Alfred said distractedly. "Totally pregnant. Like, three months along, I think."

Gilbert was quiet for a moment. Finally, he shrugged.

"Well…good for her, then. I guess she did go off the pill. Three months, you said? Wonder how long that stuff takes to wear off."

"I dunno, I hear horror stories about couples that miss one day and wind up pregnant." Alfred shrugged. "I don't actually know what goes on in those things. I prefer not to think about it, really. One of the benefits of being gay, I guess."

"Just make sure you don't have AIDs."

"Well, yeah. Shut up."

"So are they moving the date?" Gilbert asked. "I mean, that means she's due in…what…"

"August, I think."

"The wedding is set for June, right?"

"Yeah."

"Wonder if they're gonna move it. And then which way? Before or after, you know?"

"Yeah. Depends how religious Roddy's parents are, I guess." Alfred shrugged. "Although, all things considered…"

"I'll laugh if I get to see Liz get married pregnant." Gilbert snorted. "I really will."

Alfred snorted. "So…I take it you're over her."

"Who, Elizabeta? Yeah." Gilbert shrugged. "I've got a girl back in Berlin, I told you."

"You have a what?" Ludwig asked distractedly, still taking notes on the Battle of Gettysburg.

"I haven't told you that, have I?" Gilbert mused.

"No, mostly you've just mentioned getting shot."

"Oh, yeah, how's your arm?" Alfred asked.

Gilbert bent his elbow experimentally. "Better. Still kinda sore if I hit it on something, but it was only ever a flesh wound anyway."

Alfred snapped Ludwig's book shut, startling both him and Gilbert.

"Quick, what were the New York Draft Riots of 1863?"

"Something to study tomorrow." Ludwig said, taking his book and shoving it back into his bag. "I'm going home, Gilbert. You can ride home with me or Alfred. Either way, your room is still set up. I haven't gone near it."

"Well, good. I'll sit here with Freddo for a while, it's like morning in Germany. I'll get back to normal eventually. You don't mind giving me a ride, do you?"

"Nah. Don't worry Luddy, I'll make sure he doesn't hit anymore trees."

Gilbert laughed.

* * *

Gilbert stared at the ceiling.

It felt good to be home. Even if it would take him a few days to get back into the feeling of this time zone. He rolled over, staring at the glaring red numbers of his alarm clock. Four in the morning, but he didn't feel tired at all. He supposed he would be asleep all day tomorrow, or, was it today now? Whichever.

Granddad hadn't really given him a deadline for return. He didn't even have a ticket for the trip back. Maybe he could stay here forever, just ignore Granddad and go back to school next semester. After the wedding. Gilbert humming into his pillow, watching the numbers slowly tick closer to five. Elizabeta was pregnant with someone else's baby and getting married. And…that didn't bother him. Maybe a little, if he was being perfectly honest, but more in the 'I can't believe she's that much of a whore' than the 'I used to love that girl' sense. And, really, Elizabeta was, what, twenty? And already engaged with a kid on the way.

He rolled over again. At least the baby hadn't come first. That counted for something, right? Getting pregnant _after_ the engagement? Well, she had, hadn't she? Gilbert counted back on his fingers, February, January, December, November….And…damn it, now he was starting to get tired. Of course, the moment he tried to do math. He might as well just try and perform long division until he passed out.

He and Elizabeta used to be such good friends. Maybe they could be like that again. There wasn't anything stopping them, was there? She was clearly over him, and he was over her now, so why not? Why not be best friends again? She'd promised him a place in the wedding a few months ago, hadn't she? Yeah, he should really try and work on that friendship again. She was his oldest friend, brothers notwithstanding. The only friend he'd had before college.

Yeah. He could be friends with Elizabeta. Maybe he'd get lucky and she'd let him be godfather or something. He laughed, suddenly reminded of Vargas. Yeah. Godfather, and he could go back to school, maybe get a degree in pre-law or something. Just to spite his grandfather. And he could ship Natasha out here, and they'd all live happily ever after, and he'd never talk to his grandfather again. His dad had done it, he didn't see why he couldn't try the same thing.

Why not?

* * *

"Delivery for Mr. Beilschmidt."

Gilbert stared blearily at the clipboard. "There's two Mr. Beilschmidt's. Can you be more specific?"

The delivery man hesitated and flipped through his clipboard for a moment. "This says 'Beilschmidt, J Gilbert'-"

"Yeah, yeah, that's me." Gilbert sighed. "What is it? Who's it from? I didn't order anything."

"A…Mr. Beilschmidt."

"Is there a first name there, Mr. Unspecific?"

"It says…Gilbert."

Gilbert snatched the clipboard.

"You sent yourself something?"

"No, moron. Just…here." He signed the clipboard angrily. "Now get out of here."

"Yessir. It's waiting for you in the parking lot."

"You can't bring it up here?" Gilbert demanded, but he'd already scurried away. Gilbert rolled his eyes and took the stairs down. Outside, it was a little cold, but not bad, considering it was February. Ludwig was in class, and so was everyone else. He'd escaped one hellhole of boredom and fallen right into another, how wonderful.

So, where was this package? Must've been big if the damn delivery man couldn't heft it up the stupid elevator…

Gilbert paused on the curb, frowning at the parking space usually reserved for his and Ludwig's room. Ludwig had taken the car, so it should be empty. It wasn't.

After a moment of thinking, he grabbed the tag attached to it and tore it off. _"To Gilbert – Please don't hurt yourself again._"

He looked up at the motorcycle. It was gleaming black with silver trim and shaped like an aerodynamic hornet. He looked back at the tag, as if there might be some further explanation or, at the very least, some kind of logic he could follow there.

No. The card was blank but for that one line. Granddad had bought him a motorcycle. Somewhat hesitantly, he lifted the helmet from the seat, looking it over. It was a shiny black to match the bike and reeked of new plastic.

Well. Might as well make sure it worked.

* * *

"He just _gave_ it to you?"

"Yeah. Not even a letter or anything. Just 'don't hurt yourself'."

Alfred ran a hand over the body of the motorcycle. "This thing is _nice_."

"I know." Gilbert said. "It rides like a _dream_, you wouldn't believe…"

"God, you've got to let me on it sometime…"

"Like hell, last time I let you on my bike you crashed." Gilbert scoffed. "You're not touching it."

"Well the last time you were on a motorcycle you crashed it into a tree!"

"Wrong. I was thrown into a tree." Gilbert corrected, running a hand through his slightly sweaty hair. "That is clearly a different problem."

"Yeah, whatever." Alfred scoffed. He bent down to examine the tires. "I mean, I love my car, but I am really jealous of you right now."

"I would be jealous of me too." Gilbert sighed, brushing some of the dirt off his new bike. "But that reminds me, you never did give me back my jacket."

"Oh, it's inside." Alfred said distractedly, still examining the wheel spokes. "Uhm…yeah." He stood up. "I just left it in the bar. Kept meaning to give it to Ludwig. Dunno why I never did manage it…"

"Because you're you." Gilbert said, pocketing his new key and sticking his helmet under his arm. He followed Alfred inside.

"It's…here." Alfred reached under the bar and pulled out a slightly dusty leather jacket, handing it out to Gilbert. Gilbert took it and brushed it off.

"Sweet, thanks. I needed this….Wait."

"What?"

"My wallet. It's not in here."

"It's not?" Alfred grabbed the jacket and searched the pockets himself. "Huh."

"Dude, come on, you didn't steal my wallet, did you?"

"No!" Alfred protested angrily. "I wouldn't do that! You know that! It's been under the counter since you crashed, the only people that could've gotten to it were Matt and me. You must've had it on you when you left."

"I did not." Gilbert said, taking his jacket back and hunting through the pockets again.

"Maybe you didn't have it at all that night."

"No, I paid you for my drinks, remember?"

"Oh yeah, huh?"

"Yeah. I had it that night. I don't remember what I did with it…but if I'd of had it on me they would've taken it when they found me."

"Maybe they did and forgot to give it back."

"Then I wouldn't have been a John Doe."

"Right, huh?" Alfred frowned at the jacket. "I dunno. I guess you lost it when you were here. Someone must've taken it."

"Whatever." Gilbert sighed. "It only had like ten dollars in it. Plus my license. Shit, I'll have to get another…"

"Well that sucks."

"Yeah."

"Ah well, at least you've got a badass bike now."

"True." Gilbert leaned back against the counter. "That is a bonus."

Alfred glanced over his shoulder as Matt called him from the kitchen.

"I think you're supposed to be working right now."

"Yeah, well…" Alfred scoffed, hopping over the counter and joining Matt in the kitchen. Gilbert chuckled for a moment, twirling his new key on his finger absently. The door opened and he looked up. After a moment of thought, he pushed away from the counter and crossed the bar, shoving his key back into his pocket.

"Hey, Liz." he called. "Still pregnant, I see."

"Leave me alone, Gilbert." Elizabeta snapped, stalking toward the bar. "I'm not in the mood for your pining."

"Jeese, I get it. You're taken. I'm not allowed to talk to you anymore?" he laughed. Hey, he'd give her a break. Hormones, and all that. "I promise I'm not undressing you with my eyes-"

"Well don't." she said angrily. "What did you want, anyway?"

"To make sure you were taking your bitch pills. I see you've been keeping up with them." Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Calm down, Liz, I promise I'm not hitting on you."

"With you it's hard to tell isn't it? One minute we're just talking, the next you're unhooking my bra." she hissed. "I just came in to pick up something for Roderich, so leave me alone, Gilbert."

"Well fine." Gilbert scoffed, losing patience. "Sorry for being polite."

"Alfred!" Elizabeta shouted. "I'm here to pick up Roderich's-"

"Yeah, yeah, take it." Alfred pushed a box onto the counter. "Nice of your fiancé to pick up his own damn beer. I mean, I get why he orders it through the bar, but he has a _car_-"

"Help me take this out to my car." Elizabeta said curtly.

"I don't wanna."

"Well I can't carry it!" Elizabeta said furiously, hackles raised.

"Yeah, yeah, we get it, you're preggers, have Gilbert do it, he's just standing there like a lump anyway."

"I dunno, I might accidentally tear her panties off in the parking lot." Gilbert snorted, reaching around the bar for the tap.

"Well I have to, you know, work, so it's either Gilbert or that weird looking guy in the corner."

Gilbert sprayed the tap into his open mouth before Alfred had a chance to snatch it back. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked at Elizabeta.

"Well? I can go ask him, if you want-"

"Just grab it and follow me." Elizabeta snapped. Gilbert rolled his eyes and carefully lifted the box, grunting as he shifted it off the counter.

"What the hell is in here, rocks?" he grunted, staggering after Elizabeta. She let the door swing shut behind her and he caught it with his shoulder, backing through the doorway.

"Alright, there." he panted, successfully shoving the box into her backseat. "Tell your fiancé to enjoy his rocks."

She reached out to shut the door, but he was leaning in the empty doorframe. "A thank you might be appreciated."

"Get out of my way, Gilbert." Elizabeta said instead.

"That was terrible. Let's try that again."

"I'm serious, I'll call the police if you don't get off my car!"

"For God's sakes, Liz, I get that you're not in the best mood, but there's no reason to treat me like I'm going to rape you at any given moment."

"You gonna whine about your feelings again?" she sneered. "Or cry?"

Gilbert gritted his teeth. "Fine. You wanna be a bitch? Go ahead. I thought maybe we could be friends again, at the very least. That's what you said you wanted last year, wasn't it? Whatever, go home, fuck your fiancé, do whatever. I don't really care." He slammed the car door for her. "And I don't remember you telling me to _stop_. The way I see it, you're the one that cheated, not me. _I've _got nothing to be afraid of."

"You can't tell him." Elizabeta said warningly.

"Of course I won't." Gilbert scoffed. "I'm not an ass. But maybe you should remember that I haven't next time you open your mouth."

He turned back to the bar, somewhat annoyed. This was what he got for being a nice guy? See if he tried it again any time soon.

* * *

Elizabeta watched Gilbert disappear into the bar again. After a moment, she yanked open the car door and hurriedly started the engine, twisting on the heater as high as it would go. As she sat there, waiting for her car to warm up, she touched a gentle hand to her stomach.

It wasn't very big yet. Swollen, and probably pretty distinguishable, but not that big. Gilbert's baby. Not Roderich's. Gilbert's.

But he couldn't know that. He couldn't even suspect that. No one could ever have a single reason to think that her baby was anything but Roderich's. And the farther she stayed from Gilbert, the easier that would be.

She nodded determinedly and pulled the car out into the street. She'd just have to stay away from him.

* * *

"Give me that." Gilbert snatched the remote from his brother.

"I was watching that, but fine." Ludwig sighed.

"It's a _documentary_. Honestly, do you actually try to be this dry?"

"Excuse me for having an interest in the world around me. We can't all live in our heads." Ludwig reached over to take the remote back. Gilbert held it out of reach, keeping him at bay with his foot.

"You should try it sometime. It's much better." He flipped through a few channels, scanning for something watchable. He finally settled on a rerun of some old show that probably wasn't even airing anymore. "So. While I've been gone, you get laid yet?"

"No." Ludwig said shortly, giving up on the remote.

"Kiss any girls?"

"No."

"Any boys?"

"No, Gilbert."

Gilbert snorted. "Pity. You sure you're related to me?"

"How many girls have you kissed in the last two months?"

"Exactly one." Gilbert said indignantly, laying back on the couch and setting his feet up on Ludwig's shoulder. "Multiple times."

"You like her?"

"Enough."

"You love her?"

"Dunno yet. Guess we'll find out."

Ludwig nodded and, before Gilbert had a chance to react, snatched the remote from him. The channel flipped back to the documentary.

"Little sneak!" Gilbert laughed, jumping for it again. Ludwig held him at bay easily, still focused on the TV. "Stop being bigger than me, damnit! It's not even fair!"

"I'll start shrinking right now."

"You should!" Gilbert climbed over his shoulders, still reaching for the remote. "Goddamn it, I don't get it. You were such a scrawny little kid! What'd you do, take steroids?"

"Too calm for that." Ludwig elbowed him over the edge of the couch.

"True." Gilbert coughed. He sat up and rubbed his head, waiting for the stars to fade. "What're we eating for dinner?"

"I dunno. There's soup in the cupboard."

"I miss Berlin." Gilbert muttered. "I ate well there."

"That's probably where you got those love handles."

"I don't have love handles!" Gilbert snapped, getting back to his feet. Behind Ludwig's back, he lifted his shirt up, just to be sure.

"That's what all the fat girls say."

"Shut up and be boring." Gilbert laughed, smacking the back of his head.

* * *

**In other news, my laptop has been having serious problems and refuses to be fully corrected no matter how many times we take it in for repairs, so for right now, I have a Turkish keyboard. It's..it's just easier to not question why.**

**I'm going to try and update every Friday. And try and keep the chapters around 6,000 words. AND ALSO PROVIDE DRAMA, BECAUSE THIS CHAPTER LACKS IT. I might update sooner than next Friday just to make up for that.**

**BTW, there's a poll on my profile to vote for what characters you want to show up in the (possibly nearish) future. Go vote.**


	30. The Truth, and Why We Avoid It

**An early update to show there's still drama to be had in this story. It'll pick up again soon (you thought last season was dramatic).**

**I'm trying a new style of formatting/uploading, so let me know if anything's off.**

* * *

This really had to be the most deserted part of the state.

Gilbert sighed and glanced behind him before merging into the next lane, though what he was looking for, he wasn't sure. The freeway was clear for miles in both directions. He supposed it would be just his luck that something would appear just in time to destroy his second bike.

He twisted the throttle to bring the bike up to the speed limit. He wasn't sure why he'd suddenly become so nervous about high speeds. It wasn't like he even remembered the crash, so why be traumatized because of it? Maybe he was just afraid of crashing again. He was pretty sure he'd used up whatever pathetic store of luck he'd scraped together in a life of ridiculous unluckiness.

He glanced over his shoulder again and pulled a little farther to the right of his lane, watching the car pass in the far left. There was really no reason for it, but hey, it didn't hurt either. He watched it pass, nothing extraordinary, an ugly little olive green sedan that looked like it had been keyed one too many times. He glanced down at his bike.

It was a shame _not_ to put something like this to the test. It was really a beautiful machine. Gilbert was not a motorcycle expert by any means. The only reason he rode one in the first place was because someone had offered it to him for a few hundred bucks, and he needed something to get from one job to the other. Gas for a motorcycle was cheaper than bus tickets, as it turned out. Plus he didn't have to be fired for the lethargy of people out of his control. Hell, it had taken him a good month to actually work the kinks out of riding enough to efficiently get from point A to point B. He still didn't know the real names for half of it, and whenever anything broke he just asked Ludwig. For a nerd, the kid was a terrible gearhead. Part of the mystery of Ludwig, he supposed.

The bike _was_ kind of heavy, though. He really shouldn't take it past the speed limit right now anyway.

He snorted into his helmet and let his speed drop back down to a mild forty miles per hour. No one else was around, so why bother? He was just out here to kill time anyway. Everyone else was in class.

Well, almost everyone. Antonio was working, but Gilbert found that riding his bike alone was much, much better than hanging out with a friend while they were working. The only person he'd met that could pull it off was Alfred, and that was because half the time he wasn't actually working.

He was almost downtown, wasn't he? Maybe he could catch a movie or something. God, he was bored. What day was it, Tuesday? What was he supposed to _do_? When was Spring Break? A month away?

He sighed and shook his head, glancing in his mirror and merging again, trying to get the hang of the new controls. It was much bigger than his old bike, and much, much heavier. He might not be made of meat like Alfred, but even he could lift his old bike. This thing had to weigh twice as much as him, easy. At least it felt sturdy. This could definitely take on a tree. The thought comforted him somewhat and he twisted around, checking that it was clear before pulling all the way into the left lane, cranking up the speed. Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five. The limit here was sixty-five, but it slowed down in just a few miles, as the freeway got closer to town. That was where the cops liked to sit and wait for tourists and impatient locals that forgot to take their foot off the accelerator. Fifty-five was just fine with him.

Another car slowly appeared behind him, growing larger and larger in his mirrors. He ignored them. There was no law against going fifty-five in a sixty-five zone, and if they really wanted, they'd have no trouble passing him. The road was empty. He wasn't about to move, especially as they passed the first warning sign. They'd better slow down anyway. As empty as this road was, it was pretty easy to catch anyone going more than seventy.

They crawled right up to his rear wheel, probably close enough for him to lean back and touch, had he not needed to hold onto the handlebars. He glanced in his mirrors again, somewhat annoyed. Probably they thought, being a rider and not in a car, he ought to move. Especially considering he was going below the speed limit in the fast lane. He twisted the throttle a little, hoping to give himself just a bit of space, but they hugged close.

_Well_, _then_, _fuck_ _you_. He relaxed his hand a little, bringing down the speed. Fifty-five, fifty, forty-five. He kept his speed somewhere at forty. This, obviously, frustrated the driver. They honked at him and he laughed, making a show of throwing back his head to be sure they saw. Their engine revved and he jerked forward for a moment before falling back into forty miles per hour.

This was not taken well. He'd put a bit of space between himself and the car, and it was probably best he had. For a moment, he thought they were revving their engine at him again, but no, this time the gears caught and he had maybe two seconds to pull into the left shoulder before they plowed into him.

The bike skidded to a stop and he shoved the visor on his helmet up, staring after the car. A sleek, silver thing, probably foreign, from the look of it. He flipped them off angrily, unstrapping his helmet and pulling it off, shaking the sweat out of his hair.

Maybe they'd get caught by the cops. That was really his only hope. He leaned back against the divider, letting the bike fall against it as well, knowing he really couldn't stay here for long. It would be just his luck a police car would come along _now_ and ticket him for stopping illegally. Because the world was so goddamn fair.

He jerked his water bottle out of the miniscule trunk and swallowed about half of it, wishing for a drink. He wasn't stupid enough to go driving around with the temptation of alcohol in his bike, not when he could barely hold the thing up, but right now it would be nice.

Whatever. What time was it, one? There wasn't an exit until the town. A road this deserted, you were lucky if there was an escape at all. It would take him another twenty minutes to get to town, and probably a good hour to get back to the college. If he started back now, he'd probably make it back just before Ludwig's last class let out. He'd have to go to work in another thirty minutes, but hey, it was human interaction. He pulled his bike off the divider and strapped on his helmet, taking the time to be sure it was on before pulling the idling motorcycle back onto the road.

* * *

Alfred yawned, drawing circles on the counter with the spilled beer he was supposed to be cleaning. But it was so boring…

"I'm not sure that's how you're supposed to clean that…"

"I don't care." Alfred whined, letting his forehead fall against the counter. "I'm so bored!"

"Try hanging out by yourself all day." Gilbert scoffed. "I've been bored all _week_."

"Poor you, with no classes to take."

"Shut up, it's not like I'm out here having the time of my life. I don't know if you've noticed, but there's not exactly a lot to do around here."

"Can't be worse than Calculus." Alfred muttered. "What day is it? Friday? Damn, I've got a quiz in German next week."

"How's your German keeping up, then?" Gilbert asked. "Need any practice?"

"If I hear any more German, I will tear out the intestines of whoever is speaking it and plug them in my own ears." Alfred said mutinously.

"I see." Gilbert said, taking a drink of whatever Alfred had shoved into his hand earlier. "Point made."

They turned at the sound of yelling, both amused and exasperated.

"I don't know why she keeps coming here. It's not like she can drink or something." Alfred sighed.

"I dunno, that kid must be really heavy or something. Her bitch circuits have been shorting out recently." Gilbert shook his head, finishing off the drink. "Every time I go near her, you'd think I was planning on raping her or something. Cutting her open and stealing the child to raise as my heir."

"Heir to what, tragedy and sadness?" Alfred scoffed.

"Shut up."

"Whatever, I'll give her a break, but if she starts shouting one more time I'm kicking her out." Alfred muttered. "It's scaring off business."

"What do you care? It's not your business, it's his." Gilbert jerked his head at Roderich.

"Sure, but less business means less tips. I don't get paid _that_ good."

Gilbert grunted in agreement. "I really need to pick up a job again. I feel bad. Ludwig's been working two jobs and keeping up with a full class load."

"_Why_?" Alfred asked incredulously. "I thought your Granddad was paying off your medical bills?"

"He did. They're all paid in full. I don't really know, for school, I guess. I mean, it is kind of nice not using the food stamps… But still, especially since I've been at Granddads, he doesn't get paid that bad. We've actually got some money in the bank again."

"'We'?" Alfred asked.

"We have a joint account. Don't you and Matt?"

"No, we just sort of share rent and stuff."

"Oh. Then why's he always on you about being expensive?"

"Because I don't pay rent."

"I see."

"Technically I shouldn't because I don't…actually…live there." Alfred shrugged. "But Matt disagrees."

"Right. How did you actually manage to convince your landlord you don't live there?"

"He's like a thousand. I just distract him by talking about the war and he's completely uninterested in who lives where."

Gilbert nodded absently, watching Alfred refill his glass. "What war?"

"I have no idea." Alfred said, shaking his head. "But we're winning."

"Could be anything."

"I'm not a hundred percent certain he's thinking about American wars. For all I know, he's remembering the Russian Revolution."

"Hard to say who won in the end, though, isn't it?"

Gilbert turned around and almost dropped his glass.

"Wha…Natasha?"

"Hey." She pulled him upright and kissed him, curving her body against his. He reacted somewhat slowly, still caught off-guard, but after a moment played along, setting a hand on the small of her back.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded as soon as she pulled away. She hung from his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his.

"I was in the country."

"What for?"

"Work."

Gilbert tried to remember if this was normal for her line of business and suddenly realized he had no idea what her internship was for.

"Oh. Well…why didn't you call?"

"Seemed more fun to just drop in."

"Hi. You must be Natasha. I'm Gilbert's best friend." Alfred reached over the counter and shook her hand.

"That's how he introduces himself to everyone." Gilbert told her. She laughed. So did Alfred.

"Only to girls. Weird thing is, most of them slap me for it…"

"Don't you have actual work to do?" Gilbert told him, sitting down again. Natasha took the barstool next to him.

"Yes. Would you like something do drink?" he asked Natasha.

"A White Russian."

"Wouldn't we all?" Alfred asked, mixing the drink. "Hang on, milk's in the back."

Natasha nodded as he wandered away, whether to actually get milk or to avoid doing his job for a little bit longer, Gilbert wasn't sure. He turned back to Natasha.

"So. You decided on a surprise visit."

"Just for the night. I'm back on a plane to Berlin first thing tomorrow. But I finished up in the next town over and thought I'd join you."

Gilbert nodded, thinking about the last time he'd seen her. "So you decided to get out of the country as well, then?"

He swore he saw her eyes flash, but it was hard to tell in the mediocre light of the bar. "I suppose."

He wanted to ask her what all this was about. If her sudden appearance was even related. But it seemed like the sort of thing that would be dangerous if overheard. Instead, he smiled and made idle chitchat with her, waiting for Alfred to come back. It was strange, how suddenly distant they were. A few weeks ago they'd been quite comfortable people-watching from the windows utterly naked, and now the few inches of space between them seemed far too cramped. Gilbert shifted awkwardly.

"So…uh…my ex-girlfriend's pregnant."

Natasha raised her eyebrows.

"Not like that. She's getting married, the guy's a douchebag, but whatever. She's over there." He jerked his chin the general direction of Elizabeta and Roderich. Elizabeta seemed to have calmed down since her last fit. She was leaning against Roderich, her head resting on his shoulder.

"They seem quite happy together."

Gilbert nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. I really don't know what she sees in him, but whatever, water under the bridge, right?"

She turned back to him and smiled, setting her hand on his knee. Suddenly the space between them didn't seem so unbearable.

"So I found the milk." Alfred appeared again, as if his 'Gilbert might get laid tonight' radar has suddenly gone off. Gilbert glared at him while Natasha turned her attention back on the drink Alfred was supposed to be preparing.

_Get_ _out_ _of_ _here_. He thought furiously, hoping to return to at least some of the previous mood. He really didn't care why Natasha was in town, or why she'd almost gotten him shot. Right now, he really only cared about one thing, and Alfred was making that one thing really hard to get.

Alfred grinned at him as he deftly filled the glass. _Not_ _a_ _chance_.

Gay friends were terrible cockblocks.

"So Natasha, what are you doing in Colorado?" Alfred asked innocently. "Have you been to America before?"

"Oh, yes, several times." Natasha responded politely, taking the finished drink. "My work takes me all kinds of places."

"Is that what you're doing in Berlin?" Alfred was now completely ignoring Gilbert.

"I had a job I had to finish up there. It shouldn't be much longer, actually."

"Really?" Alfred asked in a tone that conveyed far more interest than any sane man would have with another's girlfriend. "How soon?"

"A few days, if I'm lucky."

"And then you're out of Berlin for good?"

"I don't know, I don't have much work after that. I might stay in the city for a while."

"I see."

"Alfred, can I talk to you?" Gilbert interrupted their pleasant conversation. "Over there?"

"What for, Gilbert?" Alfred asked innocently.

"Excuse us." Gilbert told Natasha. He grabbed Alfred's collar and dragged him along the bar until he was sure they couldn't be overheard. Alfred jerked away.

"Watch it, if I tear another shirt-"

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" Gilbert demanded. "One, where is Arthur, because I really want to find out how he gets laid with a cockblock of a boyfriend-"

"Okay, leave Arthur out of this." Alfred said. "Not because I'm worried about insulting him. But because I'm really horny right now and he's 'studying' like the goddamn git he is."

"So what, you're going to make everyone as miserable as you?" Gilbert hissed, glancing down the bar. Natasha was stirring her drink, looking somewhat lonely in her soft blue dress that came down to her knees- "I think we both know I need this."

"No, you don't." Alfred said determinedly. "That girl is weird."

"She is not _weird_." Gilbert said furiously. "Who are you to talk, anyway-"

"I don't what it is, but there's something off about her." Alfred said pointedly. "I asked her what she did and she totally ignored the question."

"You're right, I bet she's a _spy_ and she's trying to _murder_ me." Gilbert said. "I will be concerned about her after I-"

"Look, she gives me the creeps. There is something really weird and familiar about her." Alfred said pointedly.

Gilbert crossed his arms. "You think I can't take care of myself."

"I didn't say that-"

"You think I'm going to get murdered by a girl that can't weigh more than ninety pounds."

"That is completely-"

"You're just jealous!"

"Of what?" Alfred scoffed. "I get plenty. You wish you got as much as I got."

"Oh yeah? I haven't even-"

"Francis and Antonio are talking to your girlfriend." Alfred said suddenly, pointing. Gilbert looked up.

"Son of a…" He left Alfred to…be Alfred and hurried back to Natasha. It wasn't that he didn't trust his friends, he just…okay, yeah, he didn't trust them. And with good reason.

"Gilbert! There you are. I was beginning to think you'd just left this beautiful creature all on her own." Francis said dramatically. Gilbert pushed his hand back down before it got farther across Natasha's shoulder.

"She can take care of herself." He glanced at Natahsa. "Trust me."

"Oh, we do." Antonio said. "We were just talking, don't worry so much, Gilbert."

"I'm sure _you_ were." Gilbert said pointedly.

"I don't deny that I am accidentally charming on more than one occasion." Francis said.

"If that's what you call it."

"We were just stopping by to say hi to your newest girlfriend." Francis said. He pulled Antonio by the shoulder. "We have to go, though."

Antonio seemed somewhat confused for a moment, before Francis gave him a sharp tug and he nodded.

"Right, right, see you, Gilbert!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes and turned to the bar, where Alfred was rubbing a glass dry with a towel that looked far dirtier than the glass.

"Can I get another drink before-"

"They dropped something." Natasha said suddenly. Gilbert turned.

"What?"

"There, see? One of your friends must have dropped it." She bent down and handed the crumpled paper to him. He frowned and looked it over.

"Probably homework or something. I'll just…" he turned, but Francis and Antonio had vanished. "Well…fine, I'll give it to them later. Or not."

"What is it?" Alfred asked eagerly. "Can we blackmail them with it? I really need some dirt on one of them…"

"I dunno." Gilbert said, leaning back against the counter. He turned it over in his hands a few times before successfully finding the seam and prying it open. The paper was somewhat crumpled and seemed stained in places, but that was what most of Antonio's homework looked like.

"Well?"

Gilbert frowned and scanned the paper. "I…dunno what this is. Sounds like a load of gibberish to me…"

"There's another page here, look…" Natasha folded the first back, pointing out the second paper. Gilbert pulled it out and scanned it, frowning.

"Weird…looks like a medical test or something."

"For what? I best Francis has an STD again. My bets are on-"

"No, doesn't look like it." Gilbert frowned, looking at it. "I don't know what it is, though…"

"Let me see." Alfred snatched the paper before Gilbert could argue, scanning through it hurriedly. "It's…a paternity test."

"Why do you even know that?" Gilbert demanded, taking it back.

"I watch a lot of TV. Look, there at the bottom, look at the name." Alfred leaned over the counter and pointed it out, there, at the very bottom. Gilbert squinted to see through the wrinkles and stains. But, once he'd read it, there was no mistaking it.

_Roderich_ _Edelstein_.

"Oh." He flipped the paper over again. "Well isn't that interesting?"

"Maybe his family demanded it or something." Alfred shrugged. Gilbert chuckled and squinted at the paper again.

"Probably. I'm sure Liz was pleased. Maybe that's why she's in such a good mood. Look at that, it's inconclusive, too." He snorted and scanned it again. "Poor bastard's DNA is probably screwed up from years of inbreeding…" He rubbed at a stain just under the charts at the top of the page. Where on Earth Antonio or Francis had even found this…the trash, probably. Funny stain, though, almost looked like words…

He frowned and held it closer to his face. Actually, it really did look like words. Or, a word, to be precise. He shifted it in the dim light of the bar, trying to read it. _N_…_Negative_? Negative.

So the test was negative, then. Negative…

"What?" He held the paper up to the light, trying to see better, but there was no mistaking it now. _Negative_, clear as day. The test was negative… "Roderich's not the father…"

"What? Of course he is." Alfred said immediately. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know…" Gilbert said slowly. "I mean, who could be the father other than…"

It hit him all at once. He counted back in his head, February, January, December, November…November. That was…three months away, and…and Elizabeta was…She was three months pregnant, wasn't she? No. No, he was wrong. This was just a stupid paper, this word, Negative, it wasn't even part of the actual results, just some penned in letters…But Francis and Antonio, they had dropped this for a reason. He knew them too well to think this was just an accident. A coincidence.

"YOU!" he roared across the bar. Several people jumped, including Alfred. He ignored them and marched across the room, to where Elizabeta was so happily snuggled up to her fiancé. She looked up when he yelled, as if she'd been waiting for this. She scrambled to her feet, as if she meant to run, or beat him off, but she did neither, just stood there while he bore down on her.

"You!" he finally reached her and grabbed her collar. Roderich protested, and, in response, Gilbert shoved the papers at him. Elizabeta watched them pass hands silently, as if she realized she couldn't stop it from happening.

"What…is this?"

"What is that, Elizabeta?" Gilbert asked, voice distorted by shock and anger. "Real curious, isn't it?"

"I…don't know what…"

"Liar!" Gilbert roared. "You're real good at lying, you know that? Always have been, come to think of it. 'I don't mind when you snore, Gil.' 'I love you, Gilbert' 'It's Roderich's baby'."

The bar had gone deathly quiet. Elizabeta watched him fearfully, as if waiting for him to suddenly grow fangs.

"So whose baby is it, Liz?" he shouted. "Tell us! I want to hear you say it!"

"I…I don't…"

"Well?" Gilbert demanded. "Go on! Tell us it's his. It is, isn't it? Because there's no way it couldn't be. Not even a chance."

"Gilbert, don't-"

"Don't what?" Gilbert demanded. She was pressed back against the wall now, glancing left and right, as if looking for a way out, an escape route, but there was none. Gilbert was quite sure of that.

"WHOSE BABY IS IT?"

"YOURS!" Elizabeta cried out, finally. She buried her face in her hands. "It's yours, okay?"

Gilbert felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He wanted to demand why she'd lied, wanted to know why she hadn't even told him, why she thought he didn't have a right to know that…that…

He turned and made sure to slam the door behind him. His motorcycle was waiting for him, gleaming prettily in the moonlight. He threw his leg over it, twisting the key as hard as he could. The engine turned over and roared to life, and a moment later he was gone, no helmet, no jacket, no gloves. He didn't care. He didn't care about any of that. Right now he just wanted to go as far away from here as possible, away from Elizabeta and Roderich and everyone that had seen and heard and Antonio and Francis, who had known but never told him, who had passed the message along like a note in class.

How fast was he going? Fifty, sixty, seventy, the meter kept climbing. He took a turn so fast his knee brushed the pavement, grating against his jeans. Faster, faster, because the faster he was going the faster he got away, and all he could do right now was get away, was run, run far, far away…

He came to a road that had seen better days. Without shin guards, the pebbles flew up behind his front tire and pelted his legs like bullets, but what did he care? Faster, faster, until the world blurred past, until the needle on his speedometer looked like the second hand on a clock, ticking past the numbers, ninety, one hundred, one-hundred ten…

His handlebars wobbled uncertainly and suddenly fear was the front-most emotion. Both hands tightened wildly, around the clutch and front brake, his foot pressed madly on the rear brake, until the bike was skidding to a stop. The speedometer moved backwards now, ticking the other way, fifty, forty, thirty… He lost track at twenty. It could have been because he no longer cared, but, had there been any onlookers, they would've bet that was about when he lost his grip on the handlebars and toppled backwards off the bike, summersaulting a few times across what felt like a minefield of broken glass and flint.

The bike, brakes, clutch, and throttle released, managed to make it another two feet before it hit a pothole and toppled over, wheels spinning in the dust. The impact cut off the engine, and, all at once, it was quiet.

Gilbert groaned and rolled onto his back, positive that he'd actually managed to kill himself this time. His ribcage must've collapsed in on itself, and taken his lungs with it, apparently. He coughed a few times and air rushed back into his lungs, grating on his throat. For a moment, all he could think about was the horrible pain in his chest. He must've broken at least three ribs. Probably four.

But, as a few minutes passed, he began to feel hopeful. Very, very slowly, he sat up. His head immediately swam, making his vision go blurry. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. This time, the world stayed put. Okay, so he might actually live. He cautiously felt his chest. It was sore, no denying that. He was pretty sure his chest had been the one to break his fall, but it was better than his head, he supposed. But nothing seemed broken. Bruised, maybe, but that wasn't so bad.

His hands were another story. Had he tried to stop his fall? Or had they gotten caught on the wheel? Now he couldn't remember. He supposed it didn't matter. They were scraped and bloodied, but he'd had worse. His legs faired a bit better, though he did notice that his shins were nicked and cut from the spray of pebbles. His knee was bloodied, too, but he had a feeling that was from his hard turns rather than his fall.

All in all, he'd fared worse from a crash before.

He cautiously got to his feet. It hurt like hell, but he managed it after a moment, wiping the blood off on his jeans. His hands burned with the contact. After a moment of steadying himself, he managed to limp back towards his bike.

For a minute, all he could do was just stare at it. Maybe it was broken. Maybe he should just leave it here for the motorcycle buzzards. But he was pretty sure he was making that last thing up, so he bent down and pulled it back up by the handlebars. His hands, ribs, and knees all protested this motion violently, and made damn sure he knew about their displeasure. He did his best to ignore them.

The bike had survived better than him. There was a single scratch along the right side, but it wasn't that big, and he found he really didn't care that much. He shoved the side stand down and propped it up before he dropped it again, prying open the trunk in search of water. He took a quick sip and then used most of the rest cleaning off his hands, which were stinging quite ferociously by now. He didn't have anything to wrap them with, but, again, he'd survive.

He looked father down the road and then back behind him. After a moment, he pushed the side stand back up and limped forward, one hand tight around the handlebars, the other on the seat, half-leaning, half-pushing the motorcycle down the road.

It was maybe twenty minutes before he came to a bridge. He couldn't remember what river it crossed, some branch of the Colorado, probably. He looked around, nodded, and propped his bike against the railing before collapsing against it himself, slumped on the cold pavement that made up the walkway of the bridge.

He wasn't alone. Now and then a car would pass, a passerby determined not to make eye contact, and that was fine with him. He watched their feet as they went by. Boots, heels, a pair of old sneakers… It was as close to human contact as he was going to get right now. The wind had picked up, leaving him rubbing his arms, wishing for his jacket. But that was back at the bar, and…

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about the bar right now.

Another passerby, walking past without so much as a glance in his direction. Gilbert watched his feet. He stumbled now and then, favoring his right foot. Gilbert chuckled.

"Cold out, isn't it?" he called. The man paused, as if uncertain whether or not he ought to respond. Gilbert shook his head. "You missed the show, you know. I suspect it was rather good, falling off a motorcycle is usually funny when you're not the one on it."

Another minute of silence. Finally, he sighed in defeat and settled down next to Gilbert, pulling off his stylish fedora.

"I didn't. It really was spectacular."

Gilbert laughed. "I thought so. So how long have you been following me?"

Vargas shrugged, brushing the hat free of invisible dust. "Since you landed. Your grandfather's orders."

"I see. Did his orders include not being seen by me?"

"It was implied."

"I'm sorry, then."

"I was pushing my luck, hoping you'd be far too distracted to notice."

"Silly you."

"Silly me."

They were quiet for a while.

"If you don't mind me asking…" Vargas said slowly. "What _is_ distracting you so much?"

"I do mind, actually." Gilbert said. Vargas nodded and they returned to companionable silence.

"I got a girl pregnant."

More silence.

"I see the problem."

Gilbert nodded. "Except…that's not really it. I mean, yeah, I really…should've been more careful but…Here's the thing: she's engaged."

"Ahh. This is the girl set to marry Roderich the Eighth."

"Yeah. And, again, that's not the problem. The real problem is…she knew. She knew it was mine. She…had a paternity test and…everything."

"That tends to create problems, when the mother knows who her baby's father is."

"She didn't _tell_ me." Gilbert said, staring at the water through the railing on the other side of the bridge. "She knew. She _knew_. She's known since I came back, I'm sure of it. And she said…nothing."

"I suppose she was worried for her reputation. And the child's." Vargas said thoughtfully.

"She was going to let him raise it." Gilbert said thickly. "She was going to pretend it was his, and let him raise my kid. And she expected me to stand by, and never know… Never even…know I was…a father." The word burned his tongue. Father. Was that what he was now?

"If she had told you, what would you have done?" Vargas asked. "She's engaged. She's not yours."

"It's still my kid." Gilbert said quietly.

"Most boys your age are thrilled to know they've been given a reprieve from such a thing."

"I'm not a boy." Gilbert said. "And…I'm not scared of that. I'm not scared of responsibility, I…practically raised Ludwig, I was just telling him…that…"

"Telling him what?"

Gilbert stood up suddenly, ignoring the protest in his ribs.

"He knew."

"Your brother?"

"He knew." He repeated, pacing the sidewalk. Was he shaking? Or was that the cold? "Ludwig knew. He asked me all those…weird questions, because…Psych class my _ass_. He _knew_…He-sorry." He hurriedly stepped out into the street, letting a passerby with pale blond hair and a heavy overcoat by. He smiled pleasantly and continued his walk.

"I'm sure he had a very good reason for keeping it from you." Vargas stood and leaned on the railing, watching the man Gilbert had nearly run into. "Brothers often do."

Gilbert stared after him too, lost in thought.

"I suppose, in the end, there's really only one question you have to answer." Vargas said, turning his attention back to Gilbert. Gilbert blinked.

"What?"

"Do you want to be a father?"

The question startled him. Did he? He certainly wouldn't have chosen this, assuming he'd been given a choice. He had Granddad, but he wasn't exactly set out to support a family, financially. He didn't even have a job anymore. And…damn it, he was only twenty-one. This was supposed to happen years from now, when he was twenty-six, twenty-nine. In his thirties. Not now. Did he want kids? Maybe someday, he'd never really given it much thought…

No, Vargas was wrong. The question wasn't did he want to be a father. It was…Did he want this baby? The child was already there, already in existence. The question was…Did he want to be part of its life?

"Yes." he murmured, rubbing his arms in the cold. "I do."

"Then you know what you need to do, then." Vargas said. Gilbert nodded. He'd rubbed blood onto his arms, kept his hands from healing up, but he didn't really care about that now.

He turned without another word and pulled his bike from its place against the railing.

"What time is it?"

"One in the morning."

He nodded. Tomorrow, then. He'd set things straight tomorrow. Right now….Right now he needed sleep. He needed to think.

"I guess I'll see you around, then."

"I'll be around." Vargas assured him. Gilbert nodded, twisted the key, pressed the ignition, and, almost before the engine had caught, twisted the throttle, sending him racing back into town. This time, of course, at a reasonable speed.

* * *

**So, like, finally, right?**


	31. The Blue House at the End

**The weird part is I had this written a long time ago. I just never got around to uploading it.**

**Weird.**

**Anyway, I'll try and get back into updating every Friday. If I don't drop off the face of the Earth again. Blame school. And stuff.**

* * *

Ludwig wasn't around when he got home. Either he wasn't home, or he'd already gone to bed. Either way, Gilbert didn't much care. He didn't want to talk to Ludwig right now.

His betrayal still stung. Elizabeta he could at least understand. She was trying to create the perfect life, even if it was a lie. Ludwig, though…Why? Why didn't he tell him? How did he even know?

Questions for tomorrow. He would ask Ludwig in the morning. And then he would find Elizabeta. And he would talk to her.

Tomorrow.

Right now, he needed sleep. He needed to close his eyes and think about nothing, to be absolutely alone, so that tomorrow, he could deal with this.

He collapsed on his bed, so happy that it was _his_ bed, _his_ mattress, in _his_ house. Once, he'd been a decent provider. He'd paid for this mattress with sweat and blood. What _hadn't_ he done, when he'd been fired every other week? Roofing – fired after three weeks because the bus didn't take any routes close to his jobs. Construction – two months, he'd had to quit when he'd managed to break two of his fingers. Part-time teenagers didn't get medical benefits or sick days. Dry-wall – two weeks, caught sleeping with the boss's daughter. That one was probably on him.

He couldn't even remember the rest. Cashier, janitor, hell, once he'd tried being a tour guide for the trails that wound around the mountains, but it turned out he had a terrible habit of getting lost. Since he was fourteen years old, really. And before that, collecting cans, pulling empty bottles out of the hands of sleeping bums.

Looking back, he wasn't one-hundred percent sure why he'd done it. He supposed that the minute he'd left the state home the first time, when he'd taken Ludwig out into the cold and rain with a pillowcase full of cans, he'd made up his mind. The world was cruel and hard and cold and he would do whatever it took to protect himself from it. To protect Ludwig from it. And he couldn't do that if he ever relied on anyone for anything. He bought his own food. His own clothes, his own shoes, because if he relied on someone else for them and they let him down, where would he be? At eighteen years old, he made himself Ludwig's legal guardian and left, and never looked back. He was an adult then, he paid taxes, managed to find a full-time job, bought a motorcycle. Hell, Ludwig was still technically covered under his taxes as a minor. And he would be until he turned twenty-five.

In the eyes of the law, at least, he was a father already. He rolled over, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about that right now.

So what _was_ he supposed to be thinking about? Sleep. He was supposed to be sleeping.

Gilbert yawned and, as if the sudden command had exhausted him, fell asleep.

* * *

It was still dark when he woke up. The orange of the streetlights outside filtered through his threadbare curtains, competing with the yellow seeping through the crack under his door. Ludwig was up, then.

He'd only been asleep for a few hours, but he doubted he'd feel any better whether it was a few more hours or another week. His head had cleared somewhat, erasing some of the fog and leaving him with a handful of questions he was determined to have answered by the end of the day.

One: Who had known about this and why hadn't any of them told him? At the very least, Elizabeta, Antonio, Francis, and Ludwig had all known.

Two: What did Elizabeta intend to do? Was she still with Roderich? Was he willing to raise Gilbert's child?

Three: What did _he_ intend to do?

He figured it was best to go down the list one at a time. And the smartest first move seemed to be talking to Ludwig, who was currently getting ready for work, from the sounds of it. Gilbert made to stand up and found himself immediately back on the bed, gasping. Overnight, his chest had tightened up, leaving him with the impression that he'd at least fractured a rib or two. Oh well. It would heal. Nothing the doctors could really do about it anyway.

After a moment of muttered encouragement to his stiff legs, Gilbert stood, steadying himself on the nightstand. It had been a while since he'd needed help walking. But this was different, wasn't it? This was physical. He could power through this.

So he did. He pulled open the door, watching Ludwig pack his bag and brush his teeth at the same time.

"You're up early." Ludwig commented without looking at him. He hadn't been at the bar last night. Had he heard? Gilbert was pretty sure Feliciano had been there last night, though he might have left earlier. If he had been there, half the school would know by this afternoon anyway.

"Yeah." Gilbert said, frowning. Feliciano. Was that how Ludwig knew? But if Feliciano knew anything it would've leaked out immediately. He just wasn't the type for keeping secrets.

"I have to leave in a few minutes, but it's a short day today. I'll be off at noon." He pushed the last of his books into the bag and struggled to zip it closed. Gilbert watched absently.

"Alright."

"Try not to spend too much time on that bike, it's heavy, and your balance isn't-What the hell happened to you?"

Gilbert started. "What?"

Ludwig had finally torn his eyes away from his backpack. "You, you're…Is that blood?"

Gilbert looked down. "Oh. Yeah, sort of." He was still in the same clothes from last night. There were smeared handprints on his shirt and dried blood caked around the knee of his jeans.

"Did you murder someone?"

"No, I'm just...It's nothing, I…fell."

"I can tell. There's still bits of gravel in your face."

Gilbert hadn't even realized he'd hurt his face. He reached up gingerly, somewhat concerned now. His fingers knocked several chunks of gravel loose as he felt the scrape on his chin. Nothing very bad.

"What were you doing, riding without your helmet?" Ludwig demanded. "You'd think you'd know better-"

"You think you'd know better than to keep secrets from me." Gilbert snapped. He was frustrated and, yes, angry now, because who did Ludwig think he was, to tell Gilbert to be careful?

"What?" Ludwig asked, clearly lost.

"'Just for Psych class' he says." Gilbert scoffed. "'I don't mean anything by it.'"

"Gilbert, you're not making sense-"

"I'm making perfect sense!" Gilbert shouted. "It's you who isn't! What possible reason could you have for lying? To me!"

"Lying about what?" Ludwig demanded, angry, but still clearly confused.

"'About what..'" Gilbert sneered, mocking him. "'What would you do if she was pregnant. Hypothetically, of course.' Hypothetically my ass! You didn't think that might have been the perfect time to speak up?"

"Oh." Ludwig seemed to have caught on, at last. He went back to packing.

"Oh?" Gilbert demanded. "That's all you have to say for yourself? Just 'oh'?"

"I…guess it's yours, then."

Gilbert hesitated. "What?"

"She…told me she'd tell you the results." Ludwig said slowly, pausing in the bathroom to rinse his mouth. "I haven't seen her since…Well actually I haven't seen her in a while. Feliciano broke down and told me and…I gave her hair for a paternity test on the condition she'd tell me the results. I haven't seen any sign of her recently, so I just assumed she'd tell you in person, now that you're here."

Gilbert mulled that over for a minute. "So…you didn't know it was my kid."

"No. I tried to find her again, but I wasn't sure how long the test would take, and…well you were here, so I figured it'd just be easier for her to tell you."

"But you didn't tell me? About the test, or any of that?"

"Part of the agreement. I figured it would just be cleaner to tell you once I knew one way or another, anyway."

"So…if she'd of actually told you, you would've told me?"

"I would've made her tell you, but, barring that, yes. It's a bit odd, isn't it? It's not nearly as dramatic as I imagined."

"You weren't there last night." Gilbert said blankly, still lost in thought.

"What, you reacted badly?"

"Sort of."

"She told you at the bar, then?"

Gilbert frowned. "No…not really."

"Where, then? Did she at least tell Roderich?"

"No…She didn't…say anything."

"To him?"

"To…anyone."

Ludwig finally managed to get his bag closed. "What do you mean, to anyone? Anyone else?"

"To anyone."

It was Ludwig's turn to frown. "She didn't tell you?"

"Antonio and Francis did."

"They knew?"

"Apparently." Gilbert reached for the papers and realized they weren't in his pocket anymore. He'd shoved them at Roderich, last he remembered. "They got ahold of a paternity test…Not with your DNA though, Roderich's. Looks like it was inconclusive, but someone apparently understood it because they wrote negative in the corner."

"Where'd they even find that?"

"I don't know. Looked like the trash."

"So…she didn't tell you."

"No. I don't think she ever planned to."

"How do you know the results were right, then?" Ludwig hefted his bag onto his shoulder. "Sounds like anyone could've written on them."

"She did…confirm them."

"Did she?"

"There was…shouting…involved."

"On your end or hers?"

"Mostly mine."

Ludwig nodded. "I suppose…in the given light…that's acceptable."

"In hindsight, I'm not sure it was." Gilbert said, shaking his head. "But…you're gonna be late."

He nodded. "I…I can probably call in sick if…you want to…talk-"

"No, it's fine, go." Gilbert pushed him out the door. "I'm a big boy, West. I've got a lot of thinking to do, anyway." He seriously doubted Ludwig would be able to handle missing work anyway. Best to let him go and talk to him at noon, if need be. He had things to do in the meantime anyway. "I'll see you later."

"See you." Ludwig nodded. He hesitated and glanced back inside, letting the cold in through the open door. "Don't…do anything…you'll regret."

"Too late. Get out of here, I need to change."

Ludwig nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.

Well. That was one question answered. He turned to the bathroom, carefully pulling off his bloody shirt. It was probably ruined, which was a shame, but he really had bigger problems at the moment. He tossed it aside and examined his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

His chest looked a funny mottled purplish blue, but he was starting to doubt that he'd done any serious damage to his ribs. Sore and broken were two different things, after all.

His hands were scratched up pretty badly, but once he'd scraped the blood off and dumped half a bottle of hydrogen peroxide on them, they functioned well enough. A band-aid wouldn't really cut it, but they were too raw to leave uncovered. He settled for a roll of yellowing gauze at the back of the cupboard. Fifteen minutes later, his hands, knee, chin, and chest had all been splashed with peroxide and covered if he deemed it necessary. He was stiff and sore, but functional.

He managed to dress and feed himself without further injury, although he wasn't that hungry, come to think of it. About time to start looking at his list of questions. But that involved talking to Elizabeta, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to do that right now. He debated just taking a nap until Ludwig got home. He deserved time to recover from something this major, didn't he? A chance to let it settle, to sort out his thoughts and decide what he wanted to do.

But a minute later he chastised himself. He knew perfectly well what he wanted to do, and he knew what he ought to be doing. He needed to figure this out soon, because time was sort of important here, wasn't it? For the first time, he thought about the situation, not from his perspective, but the kid's. There was, quite suddenly, a rush of contempt. Of near-hatred. It was unfair to him for his parents to be snapping at each other every moment the opportunity presented itself.

Gilbert sighed and collapsed on the couch, somewhat worn out. He thought of his own parents, who never fought. How his mother smiled when his father came home, how they never bothered to hide their kisses from two children that clearly wanted nothing to do with them. How they held hands at the strangest times, just for the sake of it. He supposed, given the situation, that they must've been pretty deep in love. To run away, to go to a new country and learn a new language. He'd never even thought about that. Had they known English before? Had they struggled to take their citizenship tests? Had it been hard for them?

But they'd never seemed like it. He must've been born before they'd even gained citizenship, an anchor baby of sorts. Had that been their intention? Would they have been deported without him? But then, they wouldn't have been here without him. So how had they gotten their visas? Had it been their parent's influence? Did it hold over an American government, did it even hold over the German or Austrian governments?

He tried to think of the era. 1990, the Cold War was just ending, the Berlin Wall had fallen, everything was calming down.

But that made him think of something else. He tried to think of Granddad's house, of how it overlooked Berlin. Where had the wall been? He didn't know German history nearly well enough to know how far the wall stretched, but…Well, Granddad's house was pretty far away from the city. Had…it been in East Germany?

The thought startled him. He really ought to know more German history. But he knew enough, from various lessons on the Cold War, to know that it wasn't easy to get out of East Germany. So how had they done it? Better question: how had they managed to meet, given that they were from two different countries, countries without even a single border?

He stood up, rubbing his hands together, trying to loosen his fingers. Could he manage his bike? Otherwise it would take him at least half an hour just to get back to the bar, and everyone else lived at least twenty minutes past that. He flexed his fingers experimentally. They felt better than they had this morning. Although he didn't have his helmet…Or jacket, or gloves. He really ought to pick them up before he did anything on his bike. They were at the bar, right? But the bar was locked up by now, and wouldn't be open until Monday night.

He shrugged and fished his keys from last night's jeans. It was a good thing he knew the bartenders, then, wasn't it?

* * *

Gilbert rapped the back of his open hand on the door, hoping it would be enough to catch Matt's attention. Alfred could sleep through a fire alarm, but Matt might be up by now.

The door opened and Matt looked startled, as if he hadn't quite expected someone on the other side.

"Oh, hi Gilbert. Sorry, must not have heard you. I'm just leaving, but Alfred's asleep, go ahead in." Gilbert just nodded, still rubbing his stiff hands. They passed each other in the doorway and Gilbert shut the door behind him, taking in the unconscious lump that was Alfred. He was hanging off his bed, in danger of falling off at any minute. Gilbert watched him for a moment, and, deciding that it was far too kind to simply watch, nudged him. He slid onto the floor and, miraculously, continued snoring. Gilbert sighed and stood over him, pressing the heel of his foot to Alfred's chest.

It took a few seconds, but Alfred was finally awake, staring blearily at Gilbert.

"Am I still dreaming…?"

"Were you dreaming I was kicking you?"

"I don't remember anymore." Alfred picked himself up off the floor groggily, flopping back onto the bed. Gilbert shook his head, sitting down on Matt's bed. "So I guess you're looking for your stuff."

"Good guess."

Alfred reached around the bed and produced a worn duffel bag. He tossed it at Gilbert and Gilbert dodged, letting it fall onto the bed next to it.

"That should be everything." Alfred muttered into his pillow.

"Good to know." Gilbert unzipped the bag with some difficulty and looked inside, making sure Alfred was telling the truth. Alfred wouldn't lie, but he would forget that wasn't telling the truth. "Have a good nap?"

"Dude, come on, the bar's open late on Fridays. I only got like, two hours of sleep."

"It's eight."

Alfred looked up at the clock. "Oh. Four. Same thing."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and pulled his gloves on, hoping the warmth might improve his flexibility. Riding here had been a nightmare. He was pretty sure his right hand was bleeding again. "Is Elizabeta staying at her place or Roderich's?"

"She and Roddy moved into a new place together about a week ago, but she's staying at Katyusha's right now."

"Who?"

"Matt's girlfriend."

"Matt has a girlfriend?"

"I said the same thing. She has a rental down by the school. You know that shitty neighborhood a block from the arts building?"

"Yeah, yeah, which number?" Gilbert said, standing up again, pulling his jacket on.

"I have no idea. Ask Matt."

"Matt just left."

"Oh. Well he's going to pick up Katy then. They're off to have kinky sex in an elevator, I don't know."

"Give me a hint about where to find her house, please."

"It's blue."

"They're all blue."

"You'll know it when you see it. It's blue." Alfred rolled over, already asleep. Gilbert sighed, annoyed, but let him sleep. He clearly had no useful information, so what was he supposed to do, bring him along to point out the house?

He shook his head and searched the apartment hurriedly, looking for a hint, an address, a map, something, but apparently Matt kept his things better organized than Alfred. Gilbert finally admitted defeat, rescued his helmet from the duffel bag, and resolved to come back later, when Alfred was conscious. He supposed he had a right to sleep more than four hours, though Gilbert hadn't. Then again, this wasn't actually Alfred's problem.

Gilbert made sure to lock the door behind him before he left. No need to get Alfred kidnapped again.

* * *

He immediately realized what Alfred meant when he'd said 'You'll know it when you see it.'. The houses on this block were all painted some shade of blue, as if individual renters had attempted to freshen the place up but couldn't quite find the original shade of powder blue. The colors ranged from a pale sky blue to a dark navy. And yet, there, near the end of the block, was the most eye-watering blue Gilbert had ever seen. It was as if someone had managed to find the purest, most undiluted shade of bright blue, and then proceeded to cover not only the walls, but the roof too. Flecks of paint had chipped off the thinning shingles in the rain and heat and fluttered to the ground like toxic snow, littering the weed lawn and oil-stained driveway.

Yes, somehow, he was sure this was the place.

He parked his bike behind the minivan sitting in the driveway and picked his way through the lawn. The weeds had choked out the grass a while ago, growing up past his knees. There might have been a path somewhere that led to the front door, but it had long since surrendered to the overwhelming power of the garden. Gilbert chose the route that seemed most packed down and managed to reach the front door, which was somewhat camouflaged, being the same shade of blinding blue as the rest of the house. He stood there for a moment, stiff hands still in their gloves, knuckles inches from the door.

Did he even know what he was doing? Did he even know what he wanted to say? How did he know he wouldn't just explode at Elizabeta again? He hadn't exactly been mature last night, though he probably had the right to shout. He needed to be calm and adult about this. As much as he'd pushed himself not to put it off, what if he really wasn't ready to face this?

For the second time that day, the door opened without him making a sound. His chest immediately ached as someone threw themselves against it, hugging him so tight he was sure that, given any normal circumstances, he still wouldn't have been able to breathe. It was a moment before his head cleared enough for him to understand the stream of words coming from the tumor on his chest.

"…so sorry, sorry sorry sorry, I'm so sorry, Gilbert, I should've told you, I shouldn't have kept it hidden like that, I was so scared, and I didn't want-"

Gilbert pried her off him before she cracked his bruised ribs. Elizabeta stood in the doorway, looking somewhat pathetic with makeup running down her face. He slowly pulled his helmet off, taking the opportunity to compose his face.

"I think we need to talk." he said calmly, surprising even himself. He'd half-expected more shouting. She nodded eagerly and pulled him inside.

He was relieved to see that the inside of the house wasn't at all blue. The couch was a graying shade of olive green, and the peeling wallpaper might have been a color at some point, though now it was a dull dirty beige. Several bits of broken down wooden furniture sat pressed against the wall, the finish slowly peeling away, leaving them looking mottled and worn. The floor might have had a carpet at some point, but by now it was just plain wooden floors, maybe bamboo, from the look of it. Something very cheap, in any case.

It made him think of his own apartment, which might not have been exactly up to the living standards of Granddad's house, but was certainly more than livable. Even Alfred and Matt's studio room, which was probably in the cheapest apartment building the town had to offer, was better than this. Gilbert lived off food stamps fifty percent of the time. He had to wonder who Katyusha was to live in a place like this.

He turned his attention back to Elizabeta, who was trying to wipe away the stains of mascara around her eyes. He watched her for a moment, helmet tucked under his arm, feeling suddenly awkward. How long had it been, since they'd been comfortable being alone together? The last time he'd really seen her had been what, when she'd wished him an awkward goodbye at the terminal? And before that, when…well, when this whole mess had started? He chewed his lip, thinking of the easy friendship they'd had before.

"So." he said, suddenly at a loss. What were his questions, again? Did they even matter anymore?

Elizabeta made no attempt to pick up the conversation, only continued to rub her face clean. She was really only making things worse, smearing the makeup farther around her cheeks. Nothing was really being cleaned…

"Alright, come here." he finally couldn't stand it anymore, just standing there, watching her try not to cry. She was…well, pregnant, wasn't she? He supposed that required some form of pity. He had no idea where anything was in this place, but as he easily identified the bathroom by smell, he decided the kitchen would be better.

He found it without much trouble and guided Elizabeta inside, propping her up on the counter. It didn't smell much better in here, some noxious mix of mold and rotting food, but there wasn't much he could do about that. He was tempted to open a window, but he really didn't want their conversation to be overheard, and he didn't trust this neighborhood a whole lot, to be honest. He found a roll of paper towels that seemed somewhat sanitary and wet a few, bringing them to Elizabeta. She took them without a word and dabbed at her eyes blindly, making her look mottled as well as leaky. Exasperated, Gilbert took the towels back and rubbed the makeup away himself.

Elizabeta's hands fell away, landing helplessly in her lap. He kept his attention on her face, watching the makeup slowly dab away. She'd never worn makeup before, when they'd dated. A spot of concealer on a bad day, maybe. Some eye shadow if they went somewhere nice. She was pretty enough, why cover it up? Though, of course, he suspected it was more out of lethargy and disinterest than any real confidence in her appearance. All girls were pretty enough without makeup, it didn't stop a single one of them. Elizabeta simply didn't buy into that sort of thing, the dresses and pretty makeup and clothes and shoes and purses. The girliest he'd ever seen her buy was tampons.

But in the last few months, that's all he'd seen. New tops and pretty, emblazoned jeans and manicures and makeup. Even now, what on earth was she wearing? Something with a plummeting neckline that cinched close at her waist and flared out again, covered in glittering gems and swirling multicolored designs. She hadn't been wearing it at the bar, which meant she put it on with the intention of staying inside and crying in it. Gilbert honestly couldn't think of anything more nonsensical.

"Your shirt's ruined." Gilbert commented lightly, still trying to clean off the makeup. It seemed very resistant to water, considering how much damage her tears had done. He tossed the soggy mess in what was either the trash or a storage bin and pulled off a few more towels.

"I don't care." she said thickly. "I hate this shirt."

"Good, because I do too." He'd managed to get the worst of the mascara off. "Is this from today?"

She shook her head. "I didn't wash it off last night. My pillow's a mess, I really should apologize to Katy…"

"She's nice to let you stay here." he said gently. Elizabeta nodded. He was curious to know what she was doing here, if she'd been kicked out or run off of her own accord, but right now he was really only in the mindset to focus on one thing at a time.

"Do you draw this stuff on with Sharpie?"

"It's waterproof." she mumbled. He pulled the towel away, feeling somewhat annoyed.

"What on earth for? So you can scrub half your skin away trying to get it off?" he demanded.

She gave what might have been either a watery chuckle or another sob and shook her head. "It's….so it's tear-proof."

Gilbert paused, examining the damp, blackened towel. "It's not doing its job very well."

"Well I've had it on all night." she fished around in her pocket and came out with a square of plastic. "It starts smearing if I sleep in it…"

Gilbert tossed the wad of towels in the trash. The square of plastic turned out to be a mirror, which Elizabeta used to examine the smeared makeup. "I see. So what are you supposed to use to get water-proof makeup off, then? More makeup?"

"There's remover in my bag…" she said weakly. After a moment of silence, during which Gilbert determined he was unable to find anything smaller than a couch in this house, Elizabeta swung herself carefully off the counter and wandered almost dazedly back to the living room. She fished a small black bag out of another, larger bag, at which point Gilbert wondered at the Russian doll system girls tended to use to keep their things from touching other things. He was lucky if his toothbrush didn't wind up wrapped in a pair of underwear when he packed his bags.

"Here it is…" she muttered, pulling out a squat plastic jar with a turquoise lid. The inside turned out to be filled with a cream that, when applied to the black stains around her eyes, smeared them away as if they were nothing more than black baby powder.

"That stuff's incredible. We should try it on my scar." Gilbert said, somewhat impressed. Girls and makeup. It was all an exact science, wasn't it?

She smiled weakly. "Oil-based makeup comes off with oil-based remover. It's chemistry, really…" She slowly twisted the lid back on the jar and set in its proper place within the bag system she kept. As she reorganized a bag Gilbert was sure needed no organizing, she seemed to look at him properly for the first time.

"Did…did you crash again?" she asked tentatively.

"Not really. I fell. It's nothing." He rubbed his hands together absently, trying to keep them from stiffening again.

"It doesn't look like nothing…" she said, crossing the room. She examined his badly bandaged hands, taking each one and scrutinizing it, as if she could judge the wound beneath from the sloppiness of the bandage. "What'd you do? Catch yourself with your hands?"

"Must've. It's nothing." he pressed, pulling his hands away. "I'm not here to talk about my tendency to hurt myself."

The comment brought back the solemn expression on her face and he softened somewhat. "We really should talk about that."

"I know." she said quietly.

He glanced around at the surrounding mess and chose the seemingly least offensive spot, which seemed to be the graying couch. He sat down and, without further persuasion, Elizabeta joined him, staring at the jar in her hands.

"So let's start at the beginning." he prompted. She nodded and then proceeded to tell him everything. By the time she was finished, Gilbert was pretty sure she was close to tears again.

She started with their night together at the end of November, how she'd been so confused and angry with herself, how she'd never really blamed Gilbert, since she was the one who'd cheated, really, not him. How she'd made the decision to never look back, to throw herself whole-heartedly into her relationship with Roderich, because it was the only way she could really be sure she wasn't thinking about him.

She hadn't even caught on about the baby until somewhere in the middle of January, and even then, it caught her completely off-guard. She hadn't really shown any symptoms, a bit of nausea, a bit of weight gain, normal things, really. It wasn't until Feliciano mentioned the date that she realized she was late – it was at this point in the conversation Gilbert hurriedly directed the story onward – and the test really only proved what she already knew. She admitted she'd paid Antonio off about buying the test. At least that explained how he and Francis had even known, though where they'd gotten the test was another matter.

She told him she'd tested Roderich's DNA first, of course. A bit of hair she'd stolen while he was sleeping, but the test came back inconclusive, wasting several thousand dollars. Frustrated, she'd taken another test, this time with both Roderich and Ludwig's DNA. Feliciano had successfully gotten Ludwig's hair, but under the condition Elizabeta provide him with the test results. She'd agreed, if only because she had no other choice.

The test proved that the baby was Gilbert's, without a doubt. So she'd lied. She'd been scared and trapped and worried that her only chance at the life she wanted, a husband and kids and pleasant suburbia, was suddenly slipping through her fingers, so she'd done the only thing she could think of – she lied. She told Roderich the baby was his and he never thought to suspect she might lie, and she'd hoped that if Ludwig ever said anything, she could deny it, since what proof did he have?

So last night, when Gilbert caught her in her lying, she'd more or less already dug her own grave. Gilbert had only pushed her in. Roderich didn't need the inconclusive test, the one she'd thrown away, to believe the baby wasn't his. That there was doubt at all was enough. That she'd lied was worse. They had it out right there at the bar with everyone still watching and he'd told her she better find someplace else to stay, considering it was his money that bought their new apartment. Katyusha had taken pity on her and offered her a spare room.

Which led to now. Gilbert mulled this over, weighing it all evenly.

He understood Elizabeta's actions. Some of them were even justified. But could he forgive her? Could he forgive her for acting out of fear and panic and lying to him, to Roderich, to everyone? Especially given hormones and the natural reaction he knew Elizabeta to have when presented with a secret?

Could he? Some of it, yes. He could forgive her keeping the test secret, for forcing his brother to keep the secret from him, for lying to Roderich. But the fact remained that she'd known he had a child, a son, a daughter, something, and she hadn't told him. That she was more than willing to let someone else raise it. He supposed the problem presented itself to millions of women, all faced with the dilemma of another man's baby, so maybe he was making it more melodramatic than it needed to be. But this had never happened to _him_, so he felt somewhat justified in taking it as well or as badly as he wanted. As much as Elizabeta might cry, he was the victim in this situation. Well, him and Roderich, he supposed.

The realization that he was in a group with Roderich, that they were equally hurt in this scenario, was probably what made him rethink his bitterness. Roderich who, after claiming Elizabeta to be the love of his life, to be so important as to throw away the golden years of bachelorhood, had kicked her out of her own home, leaving her pregnant and upset and humiliated. The realization that he'd helped put her in that position.

He reached out and pulled her close, resting his chin on her hair. She didn't hesitate for a second, simply tucked herself against him as if she'd been waiting for him to do just this since he'd appeared at the door. He stroked her hair for a while, staring into space, trying to figure out what he would have done, given reversed situations. It wasn't easy to figure out, considering he'd never had to really face the idea of getting pregnant. Would he have lied? Would he have done anything different, really?

And then he decided that it didn't matter. That being mad would accomplish absolutely nothing. That right now, there was a lot more to think about than just if he was bitter about being lied to, if Elizabeta was a jerk or not. There was, at this moment, another person who would not benefit at all from the accurate decision on either of the previous points, who probably mattered most of all in this situation.

Their kid, whoever, whatever it may be, would not benefit from its parents coming to accurate terms with the appropriate amounts of betrayal and annoyance. So why bother? What difference did it make, in the end? Elizabeta had been scared, he'd been angry, and now it was water under the bridge, like so much other drama Gilbert was used to contending with.

"Do you have someplace to stay tonight?" he asked gently. After a moment, Elizabeta shook her head.

"I'm sure Katy would let me stay another night or two, but…"

"There's room at our place." he told her. Which was something of a lie, really. There was most certainly not room for anyone else at his apartment. The place was cramped enough. But they had a couch, and he could stand giving up his bed, at least, for a while. And in the end, did he really have a choice? The mother of his child had no home. Of course he would let her stay with him. What kind of person would he be if he didn't?

* * *

**Drama is dramatic. I still feel like this chapter is too touchy-feely and not enough happens. It's getting boring. Stuff happens soon, though, so…Hang in there?**

**There's a poll on my profile to vote for the gender of Elizabeta and Gilbert's bastard child, because, no, I have not yet decided what it is.**

**On top of that, review and let me know what names you're hoping for. Because I've got no idea. Names were never my forte. AND THAT'S WHY I WRITE FANFICTION.**

**So...yeah. Do those things.**


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